


The Great Game

by TheLiveshipParagon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chaos, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hostage Situations, Insanity, Kidnapping, Lies, Madness, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mood Swings, Moriarty Is A Dick, Rescue Missions, Romance, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 77,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLiveshipParagon/pseuds/TheLiveshipParagon
Summary: Jim Moriarty selected all his hostages perfectly but for his last one he wanted someone...random. Random meant your office, unfortunately.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had absolutely no plans to start a Sherlock fandom piece until about 30 minutes ago but here we are!  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Email: theliveshipparagon@gmail.com  
> Tumblr: theliveshipparagon  
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

__

 

_[Oh I…I just died in your arms tonight…](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D6dOwHzCHfgA&t=NDRjM2ZhY2I2MzA2YjAyZjI2NGY5YTRlY2EyMzg3ZTAxZWM0NzljOCxHTGZyYmhqeQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AqOvnaaDd_SfVYQ8UVUnylw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftheliveshipparagon.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176959764185%2Fthe-great-game-chapter-1-sherlock-fic&m=1) _

That rings out loud and clear in your quiet little office block and you poke your head around the partition, slightly scowling. Whoever the hell that was was seriously pissing you off. You were all for the radio being on the background but this was ear splitting levels of volume.

“Oh don’t get up, I insist,” comes a soft Irish voice.

Must be someone’s birthday or something. There’s no way someone would be this obnoxious with music without some kind of goal.

You note your colleagues are all standing up, getting a good look at the nuisance in the room but you remain seated. You were too busy to entertain this kind of shit.

“Eeny meeny miny mo!” the guy laughs. “Guess who I shall have to blow….up. Wow that really doesn’t work as a rhyme but the sentiment is there, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” your boss asks. “Turn that racket down. Who let you in here anyway?”

“Oh I let myself in,” the guy says with an obvious level of amusement. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?” your boss presses, clearly irritated.

“I’ll know them when I see them,” the man answers cryptically before talking to someone who was with him. “Cut the tunes. Clearly classic rock is not appreciated.”

As the song abruptly finishes, you let out a sigh of relief as your ears adjust back to normality and you look down, getting back to your project. Deadlines weren’t going to wait because some dick was making a display of himself.

“Not you…not you….hate your face….yikes….good god you bore me. Is it possible to be instantly bored on sight?”

You just ignore him, furiously typing away until you spot movement in your peripheral vision. Two hands snaked over your partition wall and you stop your work. You look upwards and finally see the guy. 

He’s lithe, in a well tailored suit with impeccably manicured nails and brows, his hair swept back neatly. His eyes were what caught your attention though. There was a gleam of mischief there that was almost childlike.

“Hi,” he giggles in a fake bashful kinda way.

“Hi,” you answer back normally, interlocking your fingers on the desk and waiting for him to state what he wants.

“Oh I  _like_  you,” he grins. “You’re someone who keeps their mind on the task. Are you not afraid of me?”

“Why would I be?” you say puzzled. “You just came in and broke my eardrums. Hardly Hammer House of Horror.”

“Ooooo film connoisseur. I like films too. Let’s be friends,” he bounces on the balls of his feet excitedly.

“I’m afraid I’ve got work,” you point out.

Maybe this guy had difficulties in some way. You didn’t want to be rude or aggressive but you did really need to get back to the project.

“Of course, silly me,” the man puts his hand on his chest. “Let’s make you unemployed then.”

In one click of his fingers, the entire office around you fell to the floor as the glass of the windows exploded into shards. It happened so fast you weren’t sure what had actually gone down until you saw the neat bullet holes in your colleagues’ heads.

You look up in abject shock at the man who just shrugs his shoulders in an ‘oops’ kind of way.

“Guess your schedule is clear now, huh?” he smiles.

“You just….they’re all….”

“Dead, yes. Keep up please,” he sighs dramatically. “Now can we go? I’m running a tight ship here.”

“What? No fucking way!” you cry, taking a step back until you see the beam of light pointing at you.

“Oh don’t disappoint me. I thought you were smart,” he pouts. “Please be smart. I live in a world of stupid, hysterical people. It’s frightfully dull.”

With a sniper rifle clearly trained on you, you didn’t have much choice.

“Where are we going?” you try to fish for information.

The man’s face lights up with sheer joy, “Clever girl. I can see we’re going to get on sooo wellllll.”

You try and block out your dead workmates around you, focusing only on his face but that in itself is frightening. The boyish enjoyment you mistook for perhaps learning difficulties was now clearly a massive fucking sign of insanity.

“Your name,” his demeanour switches to something a little colder and more authoritative.

“Mina.”

You got the sense lying to this man was futile.

“Mina,” he sounds out. “Miiinnnaaaa. I do  _love_  the ’M’ sound. M..M. M. Short for something?”

“Wilhemina.”

The man cringes heavily, “Somebody’s parents didn’t love them. Eesh. Dreadfully old fashioned. Did you get internet through cranking a wheel too?”

“And I suppose your name is perfectly average?” you snap back before realising attitude was probably not the thing to give this guy.

“In a sense,” he weighs his hands up. “James. James Moriarty although I like Jim more. You can call me Jim…no wait!”

He gasps comically and grasps the sides of his temples, eyes wide and mouth almost in a smile.

“You can call me Moriarty! Moriarty and Mina, oh it’s just  _perfect_!”

The more Moriarty spoke, the more terrified you became. You’d always had a tough girl vibe but that was melting fast in the presence of this absolute lunatic.

“Where are we going, Moriarty?” you ask again, hoping something would happen at least.

“Oh sweetheart, the way you say my name,” he rolls his eyes back into his head. “Fuckable.”

Your stomach lurched heavily and you hoped you were just reading too much into it and he wasn’t actually thinking about…. _that_.

“No one ever says my name with such….repose,” he searches for the word. “It’s all, please don’t kill me Moriarty, I can make you feel good Moriarty, stop it Moriarty but you…..I almost feel sad I’ll have to strap explosives to you.”

Now your stomach definitely dropped through the floor.

“Explosives?” you stutter.

“Got a fun little game going with…an acquaintance of mine,” he says cagily, winking at you. “I like seeing him deduce things. It interests me.”

“You’re making me into a suicide bomber for a  _fucking game?_ ” you blurt out.

“Sounds rather overboard when you say it like that,” he rubs his chin dramatically. “But then I do love showmanship. I hope he saves you. You really quite intrigue me,  _Mina_.”

Men you didn’t know were in the room suddenly spring on you, wrestling you out of the room as Moriarty watches with a quaint little grin on his face.

“Put her in the car boys. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be…awesome!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty explains your purpose in his game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Definitely trying to keep true to Moriarty's changeable character here so it will come across as slightly manipulative/abusive.  
> Any private messages etc, my tumblr is : theliveshipparagon  
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

 

“Oh come on, you’re too quiet,” Moriarty chides as he forces you to dress in different clothing at gunpoint.

“Kinda concentrating on not falling over,” you hiss back as you struggle into the ridiculous skinny jeans he’s provided. “Why bother redressing me if you’re just going to blast me to strawberry jam anyway?”

He actually laughs genially, “Strawberry jam, I like that. Good to know you’ve got some gallows humour,  _Mina_. If you must know this is to throw Sherlock off if he tries to assess you.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” you ask. “Is that what this is about? You’re having an intellectual pissing contest with Sherlock Holmes?”

Moriarty’s hand quickly shoots out to grab your chin, squeezing hard, “Haven’t you got a delightful way with words,  _Mina_? So raw, so unfiltered…”

He stares you out for a time and you glare back at him.

“That fire in your eyes,” he mutters, cocking his head curiously. “Facing certain death and you still keep fighting, hmmm? Everyone else just begged. They begged and begged. They begged for their life. They begged for their life, Mina. BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!”

The unexpected volume change made you flinch as he roared in your face. The anger on his face was gone just as quickly as it appeared and he was studying your reaction.

“No,” you growl. “Get on with it. You’re going to do it anyway.”

Moriarty grins widely, almost shark like, “Oh you are  _fascinating_. You know what makes this so intriguing? I know absolutely nothing about you. The rest of them were carefully researched. I knew every little detail of their boring, mundane little lives. The mother, the redeemed young man, the grandmother, the child but you…..the single female. Doesn’t hold as much weight admittedly. Less people to miss you but you’re my favourite so far.”

“Who says I’m single?” you challenge, knowing full well it’s a lie.

Moriarty gasps in excitement, “You want me to do the Sherlock thing! Oh yes! Ohhhh you’re in for a treat, Mina!”

You finish pulling the incredibly ugly faux fur coat on and wait for him to start his spiel.

“Let’s start with the obvious shall we?” Moriarty paces in front of you. “No wedding ring, no wedding ring marks, no sentimental jewellery a lover might give, your make-up is professional but erring on the side of glamorous meaning you’re after the attention. Of course this could mean you have a fella who’s not giving you any but from the underwear choice I’d suggest you’re definitely trying hard and in fact…..OH! You had a date tonight didn’t you? Your legs are freshly shaved and there’s liberal application of perfume. Oh you  _diddddddd_. Was the lucky man worth making such an effort for, Mina?”

You blanch completely. Everything was absolutely correct. You had a dinner reservation at The Ledbury with a guy you’d met on Tinder.

“Wouldn’t know yet,” you shrug. “Not met him in person.”

“Instead you met me,” Moriarty opens his arms out wide and does jazz hands. “And that’s so much more interesting. You know, I don’t just show myself for  _any one_ , Mina. None of my previous little hostages even saw my face.”

“So why me?” you ask, folding your arms, still uncomfortably aware of the sniper dot trained on your throat.

“Because you’re special,” Moriarty says, walking up to you and stroking your hair.

You do your best not to wince. He seemed to respond better to rudeness and bravado with you so maybe that was the only thing keeping you alive.

“I am?”

“No, of course not,” Moriarty snorts. “But your face! Everyone wants to be special, don’t they? Well, little Mina. Shall I tell you something hilarious?”

“Fine.”

He leans in to whisper in your ear, “All of this, choosing you…it was entirely random!”

He pulls back, stuffing his fist in his mouth and biting down excitedly.

“What?” you blink. “You had no plan to…”

“None at all!” he giggles. “I just…picked co-ordinates, went there, picked a floor and then wondered who would jump out at me. Seems that person was you.”

Your entire life was turned upside down by a random series of choices from a madman. How was that even possible?!

“Oooo is that…is that fear I see?” Moriarty looks at your expression closely. “Is my little firecracker Mina afraid?”

“Just horrified by your outfit choices,” you rein in your terror and default to sarcasm. “I mean, denim, silk and fur, really?”

“Hey I like silk,” Moriarty pouts. “Feels good to touch… _very_  good to touch.”

You regretted pointing out the fabrics when his hands wandered to your waist and explored up yours sides. You just stood there, too stubborn to react. He was a man who loved to watch reactions and you refused to give into his game.

“Are you liking this?” he smirks. “You’re not saying no. You’re also not trying to seduce your way out of this. Curious.”

“Just put the damn explosives vest on me and get on with it,” you snarl. “If I’m going to die I’d rather do it quickly.”

“Such a little liar,” he chuckles. “You don’t really want to die, you’re just being a big tough cookie. Do you want to hurt me, Mina?”

“Yes,” you answer bluntly, putting as much hatred as you could into that word.

“Go on then,” he grins. “I’ll give you one freebie. Call it a gift.”

“Alright then,” you call him out on his bluff.

He steps back, opening his arms up wide so he’s defenceless. All the while he’s studying what move you’re going to make. Whether you chicken out or actually do it.

You don’t chicken out. You step forward and give him a right hook your personal trainer would’ve been proud of. Moriarty blusters for a second before bursting out into laughter.

“ _Mina_ ,” he rasps and the tone has so much sexual connotation in it that your whole stomach tightens in horror.

Quicker than you’d give him credit for, he grabs your hair by the root and slams his lips to yours, growling with a demented ferocity before pulling away, his face the picture of elation.

“If Sherlock doesn’t save you, I’ll kill him,” Moriarty proclaims. “I want to play another game. A game with just you and me, Mina. And oh….the fun we’ll have.”

He pushes you backwards lightly until you fall onto the chair behind you as he pulls the bomb vest over your head and tightens the straps before shackling you in place.

“Keep yourself alive,” he orders. “Read what’s on the pager, nothing more. If you try and deviate, you’re jam. If you try and describe me, you’re jam also. I really do love that quaint little phrase you gave me. Oh! Also if you try and escape, guess what?”

“Jam?” you raise a scathing eyebrow.

“Exactly!” he widens his eyes and makes a blast sound with hand gestures. “So don’t disappoint me, Mina. I’d hate for you to turn out to be like everyone else.”

With that he almost affectionately kisses the top of your head before turning gracefully on the balls of his feet and striding out of the room, whistling Born to be Wild.

He left you in this indiscernible white room, strapped to a chair with only a pager on your knee and a phone strapped nearby your head, looking for all the world like a common Essex tart.

The phone suddenly connects, making you jump slightly and you see words start appearing on the pager.

“Hello? Hello? Is someone there?” you hear the voice of Sherlock Holmes.

You have no choice. You have to start reading.

“This one interests me,” you read. “She’s like us but different. Emotional intelligence. I’ll give you six hours.”

“Six hours?!” Sherlock cries. “That’s ridiculous! You gave us ten plus on other calls.”

“Six hours,” you read. “No cases, no funny stuff. Tell me who this girl is. Six hours, Sherlock.”

With that, the line goes dead and all you’re left with is silence and the hammering of your own heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six hours for Sherlock Holmes to save you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping these chapters short means I can get them out in between my other fics :)  
> Hope you're enjoying!  
> My tumblr: theliveshipparagon if you have any questions  
> Happy reading!  
> -TLP xx

 

The obnoxious voice over started almost immediately after the line clicked off.

“Tick tick tick tick,” before it went quiet.

You recognised it as Moriarty’s voice and wondered just how much effort he’d put into this little display. It had to be prerecorded….unless he was watching you through a camera.

To test this theory, you managed to wiggle your hands to the front and flipped the bird, sticking your tongue out. You waited a good minute like that before the speaker crackled back to life.

“Aren’t you a ball of sunshine,” Moriarty says with mirth. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“Because strapping a girl into a bomb vest is so chivalrous,” you hiss.

“Touché,” he laughs. “Though your gestures really are futile. It’s not going to change the fact you’ve got, oh…..five hours and fifty minutes left.”

“Why set him such an impossible task if you’re that interested?” you glare, still unsure where the camera actually was.

“Excuse me? Are you questioning my methods, little Mina?” the voice gets more dangerous.

“You told him to find out about me. Can’t do that with fuck all to go on, can he? Nobody could.”

“Hmmm,” Moriarty muses. “Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I suppose you have a point. Maybe I’m overestimating him.”

“Or you think he’s a bloody psychic,” you grumble.

“Mina Mina Mina Mina  _Mina_ ,” Moriarty sighs almost wistfully. “I knew we’d get on. See, you complete me. The reasoning to my genius.”

“So give him somewhere to start,” you implore him. “My office block, the reservation I had at the Ledbury, the guy I was meeting…Daniel Burgess.”

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME!” Moriarty roars down the speaker and it’s almost deafening.

“Why not?!” you spit back.

“No moronic office drone is worth your precious time. Don’t  _ever_  speak of him again.”

“Are you….jealous?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he can see.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you, Mina? If you survive this, you’re  _mine_. You need someone who’s going to push your skills, your mental limits and guess who that is?”

“You?” you say dryly.

“Oh don’t say it like that!” and you can hear the pout in his voice. “We had a moment before. Anyhooooo, can’t chat all day. You’ll get your chance to give Sherlock a clue soon. Sit tight.”

“Like I can sit any other way,” you growl.

Moriarty bursts into laughter before the speakers cut off and you’re left to your own thoughts again.

**

“Hello?” Sherlock’s voice comes on again after what feels like ages. “Are you there?”

You look at the pager again expectantly but nothing happens.

“Hello?” Sherlock tries again.

What was Moriarty playing at? You daren’t speak in case he set off the explosives but you so desperately wanted to say  _something_.

“Is this the girl?”

Still you say nothing. You look upwards, trying to find where the camera was and do the most dramatic, telegraphed shrug you can.

“I can hear you breathing. Why isn’t he giving you something to say?”

He was clearly enjoying making you sweat, that’s why. Moriarty was definitely testing your patience. You refused to show him an ounce of fear.

You can dimly hear Sherlock talking to someone that you assume to be John Watson, “I don’t know why she’s not saying anything. It might be part of their game. John, I don’t know, be quiet. I’m thinking.”

Just like that, the pager clicks on.

“Hello again,” you read. “Little bit tricky isn’t it? Starting from nothing I mean. Maybe I should nicer to you. This one had dinner plans with the man from Tinder who thought that his most flattering picture was reading Sartre in a library wearing Armani. Five hours, Sherlock. Tick tock, tick tock.”

“No wait!” Sherlock tries to say but the line cuts off again.

You wait a good few minutes, checking to see whether the phone was well and truly disconnected before speaking out again.

“How the hell did you know what he looked like?” you ask bewildered.

“Oh you really didn’t think I wouldn’t look?” Moriarty’s voice comes through the speakers again. “I wanted to see what kind of man a girl like you says yes to. Bit…pretentious. Do you really like the bookish ones?”

“I like intelligent men,” you hiss before realising what you’d done.

“Then we’re going to have such fun, Mina,” Moriarty chuckles. “Because you’ll just  _love_ me and I’m not boring like  _Daniel._ ”

He says the name with such venom.

“Maybe I’ll send one of my minions in to make sure his date goes well,” he muses.

“Just leave him alone,” you struggle against the ropes. “He’s got nothing to do with the game.”

“True but he’s got everything to do with  _our_  game. I don’t like competition.”

With that, silence falls once more, despite you calling out over and over.

**

“Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.”

You jerk up from your nap as his voice reverberates around the room.

“Oh I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he croons. “One and a half hours left, Mina. I’m beginning to think I might have well and truly stumped him here. That’s a shame.”

“Would you really still blow me up if he doesn’t work out who I am?” you ask, rolling your shoulders to ease the stiffness.

“Duh,” comes the childish reply. “Said I would.”

“Have fun finding someone not boring then,” you say savagely.

You were trying to play off his own ego, hoping you were enough of a distraction that he wouldn’t truly go through with his plan.

“Don’t be like that, my little Mina, my little firecracker, my little…. _sidekick_ ,” he purrs.

“Sidekick?!” you blink.

“Welllllll Sherlock has one. I want one too. Not fair otherwise,” he reasons. “Time for a phone call?”

The line clicks in again.

“Hello, I know who she is,” Sherlock says immediately. “She is Wilhemina, she works at JTC Credit. You took her during work time where you promptly slaughtered all her colleagues. She had a date at The Ledbury with Daniel Burgess. Now tell me where she is.”

You look at the pager, “Is that all you found? I’m disappointed Sherlock. Tell me something about her I don’t know or she’ll die.”

“She’s estranged from her family, lives alone, reads exponentially, sews clothing as a hobby, not rich but comfortable, keeps a large collection of statues from cultures around the world and keeps a stock of different coloured hair dyes in her cabinet which tells me she’s extremely impulsive, possibly prone to wanderlust and make speak her mind before she’s thought of the consequences.”

Had Sherlock Holmes been in your flat?! Clearly he must have done to garner that much knowledge about you.

“Very good Sherlock. I am surprised. Tell me, however did you find out all this. Show me your method. I’m curious,” you read.

“Um…I joined Tinder,” comes the stilted reply. “Honestly I don’t know how regular people can stand it.”

“She’s in a garage on Vinery Way. Collect her, assess her. Tell me your findings. If you’re correct, she lives. If not…..boom.”

The line goes dead again.

How many hoops was Moriarty going to make Sherlock jump through?

The clang of a door makes you flinch and you see Moriarty enter. Clearly he must have been closer by than you thought. You’d half expected him to be somewhere across the other end of London in case the vest detonated.

“Ooo you’re surprised,” he notes. “Did you think I wouldn’t be nearby?”

“Wouldn’t that mean you’d get caught in the blast? I thought you’d have a higher self preservation streak than that,” you challenge.

He walks up directly to you before straddling your lap, “It’s cute you think I fear death. No no, actually I’d welcome it. If it’s my time then…I must be jam.”

“Oh my god, you’re depressed aren’t you?” you stare at him. “All of this is one big suicide letter when they finally catch up to you.”

Moriarty looks absolutely ecstatic, “Awww you noticed! You actually understand! My smart little Mina. Life is so dull,  _excruciatingly_ dull when you’re as clever as I am.”

“So you’re making your own entertainment before killing yourself?”

“Exactly. Who would’ve thought the little officer worker with the penchant for travel would see right through me? Minaaaaaaa, I’m starting to  _really_  like you. Sherlock better get here soon because I want to keep you allll to myselffffff.” 

He strokes your cheek almost affectionately whilst gazing at you with an unreadable expression.

“Is this romantic feelings I’m experiencing?” he talks to himself more than you. “How curious and unexpected. It won’t do at all. Oh no.”

He launches forward, crushing his lips to yours again in that fervent passioned way he did before but he starts trailing down your neck until he hits the spot where your collarbone starts. A sharp pain barrels through you as he bites down hard, hard enough that you start squirming before he finally lets go.

“See that?” he nods to the purpling bruise already forming. “Just a reminder for you when Sherlock arrives. You’re mine now, Mina and I’ll be coming for you soon. Ta ta.”

His eyes are glittering with malice, lust and mischief as he moves off you and casually saunters out of the door.

Fuck that hurt. You try and twist your head but only see the mark out of the corner of your eye. It looks pretty vicious.

“Shit,” you sigh, leaning back and just waiting for whatever was going to happen.

It felt like your time was almost up when the door crashes open again and you turn to see the famed Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, along with several bomb squad teams trailing behind and a grey haired man you knew to be Lestrade from the various news articles about.

“Can you say anything to me?” Sherlock asks you directly.

Smart man. He was trying to establish the rules.

You say nothing but hope you were conveying everything you needed to through your eyes.

“Right,” he blusters for a second. “John, how long?”

“Twenty minutes,” John says looking at his watch. “Hurry up, Sherlock.”

“Nobody speak, nobody move a muscle, don’t even so much as breathe whilst I’m doing this,” Sherlock orders everyone else. “A lot of lives hang in the balance.”

You look up, finally seeing the small camera wedged into one of the beams above, blinking intermittently. Moriarty was definitely still watching.

_Save me Sherlock, for god’s sake, get it right._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock can just assess you right, maybe Moriarty will let you go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's more!  
> Moriarty is still an abusive arsehole.  
> Any questions/prompts etc my tumblr is theliveshipparagon  
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

“Tick tick tick tick tick tick,” interrupted the quiet moment.

Jesus, Moriarty was such an arsehole, deliberately distracting Sherlock.

“Whoever this man is certainly has a flair for the dramatic,” Sherlock sighs irritably. “Now, your clothes. Skinny jeans are a woeful indicator of trying to stay young and relevant, silk top is more from your formative era in fashion rather than anything contemporary, the fur coat is rather common of females of the escort variety.”

Oh shit, he was getting this completely wrong and he thought you were a prostitute to boot.

“Perhaps you moonlight to be able to afford that apartment,” Sherlock continues. “Though the hair…the hair is practical but glamorous. Not an indication of a regular sex worker. Conclusion: Not an escort. Secondary conclusion: By the way you’re shifting in those jeans, you’re not used to wearing them so I surmise these aren’t actually your clothes at all.”

“Well that was obvious,” John sighs. “Not like she’s going to work in a credit firm looking like that, is she?”

“Hush, John,” Sherlock shushes him rudely. “So I can only assume whoever is the ringmaster of this little game is trying to deflect me and my deductions. A rather cheap effort.”

“Not the best time to insult the kidnapper when she’s still strapped up,” John  says out of the corner of his mouth.

“Quite,” Sherlock nods. “Other information, you’re a woman in her late twenties, no skin care routine to speak of but youthful genetics, slight wrinkle line above the brow that’s common in those who read excessively, fingernails completely shorn indicates a practical hand, most likely with your sewing which is evident from the tiny pinpricks around the thumb area.  _This_  is in fact how you make your extra money, from commissioned clothing.”

He stands up quickly and whirls around dramatically, “Well? Is that enough?”

The pager clicks on and you read it as the words scroll by, “Well done, Sherlock. Couldn’t fool you, eh? Nice to know some new information about my little Mina but I will take it from here. You failed to inherently tell me who she was, why she sees the wider picture like we can’t. You have thirty seconds to run. So run.”

Beeping starts from your vest and you make a noise between a strangled gasp and a whimper.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t stop it,” Sherlock implores you before turning on his heel and following the rest of the men who were booking it out of the garage as fast as possible. “I’m sorry.”

You were left all alone with the only sounds being the beeping of the vest and your panicked gasps as you desperately tried to get some air. Not that it would matter in ten seconds.

The floor suddenly opened up beneath you and you fell down, the chair shattering on the impact with the ground and you were left in a pile of ropes, wires and splinters. The trapdoor above you swung shut and bolted with heavy mechanised whirring before the entire chamber around you vibrated to the sound of a huge boom above.

Had he just set off an explosion in the garage? Maybe he was too curious about you to let you die after all.

You manage to extract yourself from the tangled mess of the ‘bomb vest’ and stand up, the action heavenly after so many hours sat still. You needed food, you needed water, you needed the bloody toilet.

You stumbled out of the obvious door of the chamber into the tunnel before you and just walked. You walked and walked until you hit what looked like the sewer system. Then you took the first door you saw which lead you into a living area of some sort.

Sat on a corner sofa, watching a series of monitors was Moriarty. He gave you such a gleeful expression as you walked in.

“Surprise!” he makes a rainbow with his dancing hands. “Sherlock got it right after all.”

“Then why did you blow the place up?” you ask confused.

“How else was I supposed to get you away from him?” Moriarty looks puzzled. “Planning an escape from Scotland Yard is soooo old hat. It was hysterical watching them scramble away.”

He looks at your disgusted face and tuts, “Oh Mina, I told you. I’m keeping you to myself. I didn’t blow you up, what more can a girl ask for?”

“The way to the bathroom,” you say in a deadpan voice.

Complaining about the situation was going to do you no good. You’d hoped against hope that Sherlock would’ve figured it out and you would’ve walked free with him but if life was going to toss you this curveball, you’d fall back on what had been keeping you alive so far. Sarcasm and bluntness.

“Oh my god, I’m such a terrible host,” Moriarty places both of his hands softly on his chest. “Of course, my sweet little Mina, through that door and to the left.”

As you make to go where he’s directed you, he says one last thing before you walk out of the door.

“Glad to know you’re being so sporting about it. I can’t wait to get to know  _everything_ about you.”

  
  


**

  
  


When you came back, Moriarty seemed enraged.

You flicked your gaze to the monitors and saw Sherlock and John Watson pouring through the wreckage of the garage. At least they’d made it out.

“Oh nooooo,” Moriarty pouts like a five year old. “They figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” you ask.

“The body I dumped in there in your place. They know it’s not you. Now he’s going to come looking for you and SHERLOCK RUINS EVERYTHING!”

He trashes the side table, throwing it at the wall and bellowing like a wounded bear.

“I just wanted my own John Watson!” he continues his temper tantrum, pitching the sofa over and yelling at the monitors. “She’s MINE! Do you get that you floppy hat wearing buffoon?!”

“If he knows I’m alive, he’ll find that trapdoor.”

You didn’t quite mean for those words to be said out loud but they hung in the air as Moriarty stilled completely before adjusting his suit. He didn’t move for a time and then came rushing at you, pinning you against the wall and cupping your cheeks, kissing all parts of your face in a maddened fever.

“You’re so  _brilliant_ , Mina! Of course! I’m slipping. I should have noticed that would be obvious. We need to go.”

“Go where?” you ask.

“Back to my place,” Moriarty says in the smoothest voice you’ve heard. “I know this is rushing things and being too forward, darling, but I think you can handle it. Trouble is, can’t have you seeing the way there.”

You grimace and hold out your arm, knowing what’s coming from the way he’s fiddling with something in his jacket pocket.

His expression changes to anger though you’re not sure why. He grips the back of your neck painfully and forces you to look at him.

“Why must you make me have these  _feelings_?” he spits. “I don’t like them.”

“What feelings?” you wince as he almost tears some of your hair out.

“This goes beyond normal interest and curiosity,” he elaborates, pressing his body against yours. “It’s almost…an obsession. You and I, we’re similar. You understand me, even down to knowing I had a syringe to knock you out. Tell me, Mina, why,  _why_ do I just want to make you say my name with absolute reverence? Why do I want to make you scream my name in pleasure? Why out of all the disposable men and women should I take this kind of interest in you? Why does it set me on edge so much?”

“You just said it yourself,” you breathe wildly. “We’re similar and I understand you. What you seem to be telling me is you want my approval.”

Moriarty breaks into high pitched giggling, “ _I_  want your approval? I want it? How ridiculous….ly genius! It’s so obvious! Oh Mina, I know  _exactly_  what my little game with you is going to be but first…”

That predatory gleam starts in his eye and you think it’s either going to go one of two ways. He’ll physically attack you or kiss you again. You were starting to understand that Moriarty covered up feelings he didn’t like experiencing with lust and violence.

The latter is what he eventually settles for, pinning you firmly as he passionately kisses along your throat and to your lips.

The idea comes to try and seem interested back. Maybe he’ll give you more freedoms if you do. The second you start reciprocating though, he slaps you hard across the face.

“No no NO!” he roars at you. “You’re making this too easy! I don’t want it to be easy, Mina! Here…”

He jams the syringe into your neck and depresses the plunger. It takes about thirty seconds for you to start feeling weak in your limbs.

“My firecracker Mina is not some cheap whore,” Moriarty proclaims coldly. “She’s better than that. She’s a challenge. One I intend to win. Nighty night.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty introduces you to the rules of your own game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Warnings: Violence, Sexual Aggression, Abuse  
> Moriarty is still going to be true to character with his changeable moods so heed the warnings!  
> Happy reading guys!  
> \- TLP xx

 

“Miiiinaaaaaa,” comes the crooning voice.

You blink your eyes open to see yourself in some sort of luscious high backed armchair. From the looks of it, it wouldn’t be out of place in a period drama.

Then your gaze falls on the rest of the room. It appeared you were in some dusty library. It wasn’t that it was abandoned, it was just not used very often. All of the books looked cared for at least.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Moriarty says through a speaker somewhere. “Frankly your sleeping habits are incredibly dull. Much prefer you alert.”

“Then don’t drug me,” you fold your arms, leaning back in the seat. “Not my fault I was out of it.”

“Hmmm, you have a point,” Moriarty considers. “But needs must when Sherlock is breathing down my neck. Plus…I don’t think you’re ready for me to leave you alone yet.”

“Leave me alone?” you query.

“As in you’ll try something overtly predictable like a half baked escape attempt,” he explains. “There’s no trust….but there will be. One day you’ll trust me Mina. You’ll trust me with your life.”

“Why not return the sentiment?” you say boldly. “Trust me with yours.”

The door opens and Moriarty saunters in, adjusting his jacket as he goes. He strides to the chair, reaching into his suit before pulling out a small snub nose revolver and placing it on a side table.

“There you go,” he gestures before crossing his hands in front of him. “If you think you can.”

You grab for the gun, instantly springing up and aiming it at him. You watch his eyes go wide in pure amazement.

“Yes Mina!” he encourages you. “Go on, go on! Do it!”

Your hand is shaking with the adrenalin rush as you look into his ecstatic face. Could you really do this? Could you a kill a person? Even one as insane as Moriarty?

He presses his forehead to the barrel, waving his hands towards himself in encouragement. “Come on then. Just pull the trigger. Go on. Do it. Come on, little Mina. I know there’s chaos hiding in there somewhere. Go on, go on……DO IT! PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER!”

You recoil from the shouting and there’s a glimmer of disappointment in his face before you lower the gun to your side but only to get a good swing. You pistol whip him in the cheek and the skin splits slightly on the cheekbone, sending a rivulet of blood snaking down his perfect jawline.

You’re not done yet though. You aim between his feet and fire the revolver, sending a bullet punching into the floor which startles Moriarty.

He stares at you, completely caught off guard….at least you think he is. Maybe he was just processing whether to actually kill you now you’d caused him more bodily harm.

He grabs your wrist, shaking the gun out of your hand violently until it clatters to the floor before he pushes you back onto the side table and you end up half sitting on it. There’s such a fire in his eyes that you’re actually trying to keep yourself from having a panic attack. You have no idea what to expect.

His hand fists in your hair, keeping you steady whilst he tilts your gaze up to his.

“You……look what you did to me,” he says coldly. “LOOK AT ME!”

“I’m looking,” you spit back, desperately holding onto any bravery you could. “The blood goes with your fucking tie. You’re welcome.”

He glances down at his crimson tie before a growl you can only describe as feral rips through him.

“ _Mina_ …..” he leans forward, yanking your head to the side so he can speak against your neck, inhaling the scent. “No one has ever spoken to me like that.  _Never_. How am I supposed to play this game with you when you keep doing things that make me want to fuck you  _ragged_? You’re not playing fair.”

“I never play fair, Moriarty,” you stand your ground.

“Oh….oh sweetheart,” he practically purrs. “There you go saying my name again.”

He pushes himself between your legs. He was a lot stronger than he appeared, evidently. Before you knew it, you felt  _exactly_  how much you were affecting him.

“Let me have you,” he commands.

“No,” you think on your feet.

You’d seen that he didn’t respond well to you pretending to be into him. For some reason this madman actually wanted you to lust after him  _for real_. But….why the hell was your body starting to react to this? There was a distinct heat building up in your core and your heart was hammering wildly. Were you actually  _enjoying_  this power struggle?

“I can see you want it, Mina,” he leans back, hand under your chin as if studying you. “It’s written in your breathing, that flush on your chest, the slight shifting you’re doing which is driving me  _fucking crazy._ ”

“No,” you repeat more forcefully. “You say you want to win the challenge I represent. Will take more than beating your pretty face to win me over.”

“Aww, you think I’m pretty,” he coos, stroking a thumb over your cheek. “I’m so flattered, Mina. Nice to know you have good taste. Anyways, first game point goes to you.  _Very_  well done.”

He completely moves away from you, adjusting himself again and pulling out an expensive white handkerchief to dab at his face.

“You got me all fired up and denied me,” he muses, that indifferent demeanour creeping back in. “Guess I’ll have to murder someone to get rid of all this pent up frustration. Oh well. Another day at the office right?”

“Murder someone?!” you cry out. “Why can’t you just please yourself?!”

“It’s so dull, Mina,” he almost whines. “I mean, would you prefer me to grab some random woman off the street to help these needs? I’m trying to stay loyal here. I’m trying to be a gentleman. Allow me this one little concession if you’re going to be a cocktease.”

He moves to the door again but you jump up. He seems surprised, as if he didn’t figure you’d do anything at all.

“And what are you doing?” he raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare walk out of that door,” you snarl. “You’re not killing anyone.”

“So stop me if you’re that bothered,” he shrugs before turning around.

You make the, frankly suicidal, decision to charge at him, tackling him into a bookshelf where tomes rain down on you both. He struggles against your grip, managing to wriggle free and bursting out of the pile of books, scrambling for the doorway.

You grab his ankle, jerking him backwards and he kicks at your chest, winding you slightly but you dive on top of him, pinning him to the floor with your body, your hands around his wrists.

“You know, you’re not helping things Mina,” he says pointedly. “Not very smart.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, letting go of one hand to slap him across his already wounded cheek. “I say don’t dare, you don’t fucking dare, you psychopath.”

“Oh name calling too,” his eyes roll back. “You are just so….. _interesting_. The dominatrix wasn’t half as passionate as you. Such artificial power, such clinicalness but you….oh I could keep you.”

You’re hyper aware now that you’re straddling a mass murderer who seems to be getting off on you being violent. So many emotions crash through you but the main one being disgust.

Just what the hell was he turning you into? You were just acting on your first impulse all the time, just so he wouldn’t change his mind and kill you. You were crude, aggressive and sexually combative. This wasn’t you at all. You were the mild mannered accountant who travelled the world. What the fuck was he doing to you?!

“No no no,” Moriarty sees your expression change and flips you under him, kissing across your forehead and stroking your hair back. “No, don’t lose that fire, Mina.”

“What are you doing to me?” you say, a little shakily.

“Freeing you,” he whispers before putting his finger to his lips in a shush motion. “Such raw emotional intelligence, such primal urges…release them, Mina. I want my John Watson but I don’t want  _John Watson_. I need a partner of chaos, of passion. You’re so close to perfect but I have to earn you. I have to show you that I am the clear choice.”

He gets up off you and walks backwards slowly, “So….rest up here. There’s clothes in the next room. Dinner will be at six.”

“Dinner?” you choke out.

“I told you I’ll be better than Daniel,” he shrugs as if your question was stupid. “So this will be a dinner you won’t forget.”

With that, he leaves you in a pile of books, wondering just what the hell you were going to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you seriously going to have a nice normal dinner with Moriarty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Back with a slightly longer chapter. I just didn't really want to stop!  
> Warnings: Violence  
> I have one shot requests open on my Tumblr currently at theliveshipparagon if you want any  
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

You decided just to play along with his stupid demands and finally extracted yourself from the mess of books

He’d said something about changing in the next room so that’s where you headed, cautiously looking around as you went. When you found a walk in wardrobe with an offshoot bathroom, you knew this place you were in had to be somewhere opulent. You were definitely in a posher area of London.

Looking at the bathroom, you became acutely aware you’d not bathed in a day. After the copious terror of nearly being blown up, your clothes were sweat stained and you felt grimy.

As you entered, you saw a post it note on the mirror:

**Get cleaned up, pick something nice. Don’t embarrass me  - M**

Vain sanctimonious prick.

You guessed with his designer suits and perfectly coiffed features he was very big on the superficialities in life. All thought of grim rebellion went out of your head, however, the second you stepped in that shower. It was pure bliss.

You took your time, the warm water a great comfort to you right now before you finally admitted defeat and stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel. You felt miles better, even with the sense of impending dread you were feeling about this ‘dinner’.

As you walked back into the wardrobe section, you balked to see several dresses hung up ready for you and yet another note. Moriarty must have come in whilst you were showering.

**These are your size and will look the best on you. All that soft moaning in the shower by the way…was that for me? You bad girl – M**

You turned bright red. You hadn’t realised you’d made any sounds at all. God he must think you were interested in him, that you were working off the weird little sexual tension moment you had just now.

You picked the long Cadbury purple gown with the split up to the top of your thigh and the plunging neckline. Honestly it was the most decent of all of his choices. You weren’t going to make this easy for him.

There was a station of make-up that probably would’ve cost your entire year’s salary right next to you and you debated for a good while about whether to use it. Finally you decided, fuck it. You’d already set the challenge for Moriarty and maybe if you made him lose, he would let you go.

The glide of the lipstick across your lips felt like you were preparing for war rather than a nice dinner. You half wondered if it would be somewhere private or whether the psychopath was actually taking you to a restaurant full of other people.

A knock at the door startles you and you turn to see a well built man in a suit with an earpiece that wouldn’t look out of place in a President’s bodyguard contingent.

“Are you ready Ma'am?” he asks, accent posher than you could’ve expected.

“I think so,” you reply. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll let me escape?”

The guy just smiles a little sadly, “No Ma'am, you don’t interfere with Moriarty’s plans.”

“I guess there’s leverage?”

“And good pay.”

“Well shit. Suppose we’d best get on then,” you sigh, following the guy out of the wardrobe room and back through the library where you note it’s been cleaned up.

He takes you into a lift that goes down towards an underground garage.

“Do you have a name?” You ask.

“Conrad,” he says quietly.

“I’m Mina,” you try and make polite conversation, hoping somehow it will bring normality back into your life.

“I know,” Conrad nods. “Boss told me. You look very nice. He’ll be pleased.”

“Oh goody,” you huff and you see him try and suppress a smirk.

He leads you into a dark coloured Bentley with tinted windows and you climb into the back, noting that as you closed the door, you couldn’t actually see out of the windows and your sole source of light was a tiny LED in the ceiling.

“Hey, um…it’s kinda dark?” you note as Conrad gets into the front and opens a partition screen to talk to you.

“Boss didn’t want you seeing where you were going. Sorry. Won’t be long though.”

You just folded your arms and sat back, the motion of the car making you slightly sick due to not being able to see your surroundings. It was like the worst kind of rollercoaster ride and it seemed to go on for ages though in actuality it was probably about ten minutes.

“We’re here,” Conrad tells you before opening the back door.

He crowds you, bundling you into the restaurant so fast you didn’t have time to look at where you were. All you saw was unsuspecting brickwork like a normal townhouse.

Was this one of those secret restaurants that only critics were invited to or the elite?

You looked around once inside and saw it was definitely opulent. This was the kind of place you could spend thousands just on drinks.

“Darling!” that familiar Irish lilt coos and you watch Moriarty stand up from his table and walk over to you. “Thank you Conrad, you can go now.”

“Boss,” Conrad nods before leaving.

“Oh now don’t you look  _divine_?” Moriarty purrs, circling around you like a predator. “And you chose my favourite colour, oh this was meant to be!”

Shit. You hadn’t meant to do that.

“Come now, my little Mina. Let me show you what dining with a real man is like.”

He makes you take the crook of his arm and wends his way through the other diners back to his table where he gallantly pulls a chair out for you and you sit demurely. He moves to his own seat but not before he lets his fingers trail across the bare skin of your neck.

He just stares across at you for a time, a big grin on his face, almost childish, “Mina. You put some effort in, didn’t you? I’m very pleased. You look like you belong here.”

“I do,” you raise one eyebrow before reverting back to the instincts that have kept you alive so far, boldness, rudeness and primality.

You raise one hand just as a waiter passes and he stops.

“Might I see your champagne menu?” you ask politely.

“Of course, Ma'am,” the waiter bows before scurrying off.

“Champagne, hmm?” Moriarty’s eyes glimmer. “Are we celebrating Mina?”

“No, I just want a good drink,” you shrug. “I’m parched.”

Moriarty starts giggling like a schoolgirl, “You like the finer things in life, don’t you? I can respect that, see….I do too. This is why you’re so  _perfect_  for me.”

Truth be told, you could easily eat budget food and have cheap liqueur but you wanted to make this utter bastard pay through the nose for this night. It was petty but petty was all you had right now.

“Here we are,” the waiter returns, passing the menu.

“Oh we don’t need that,” Moriarty smiles, the action disarmingly charming. “We’ll take the most expensive one, won’t we darling?”

“Yes we shall,” you nod.

“Excellent,” the waiter replies, clearly thrilled at the idea of getting more money out of you.

“See, told you this would be more fun,” Moriarty runs circles around his water glass with his finger. “Daniel would’ve only be able to afford the cheapest one. I looked at his bank account.”

“Why?” you sigh exasperatedly. “I hadn’t even met him. It’s not like he was my boyfriend or anything.”

“I told you. Our choices of romantic interest say a great deal about us,” Moriarty fixes you with a soul piercing stare. “So what am I to you, Mina? Where does a guy stand with you?”

“I’d say right now you were my captor, kidnapper…whatever you want to call it.”

“Hmm captor,” Moriarty muses. “I don’t think quite  _captor_  with the moments we’ve shared. You could’ve easily tried to fight Conrad, the doors to the car were open the whole journey, you haven’t tried to tip off any of the patrons or the staff. I think you  _want_  to continue our game, Mina.”

Your mouth fell open. He was absolutely right. You’d made only a cursory effort to try and escape. You’d actually just seemed to accept that you were under Moriarty’s control.

“I don’t,” you hiss but stop dead as the waiter returns and pours a complimentary glass of champagne out for you before leaving.

“And there was another chance,” Moriarty grins mischievously. “Just one little phrase 'Oh help, help! I’m being held by a psychopath in a Westwood suit!’, but nothing. You just completely shut up then.”

“Stop it,” you growl, necking the entire glass in one go. “Maybe I just don’t want to involve innocent people in your fucked up plans. You’d probably shoot them all.”

“Am I really becoming so predictable?” Moriarty looks horrified. “Not even a day and you know me like the back of your hand. I need to do something about that. No, that won’t do at all.”

You pour yourself another glass, necking that one too and due to not eating for so long, you felt the edges of tipsiness hit you immediately.

“You might want to slow down,” Moriarty says sternly. “We’ve not even ordered food. Can’t be drunk already.”

“I can do what I please,” you challenge him. “If I want to get hammered, I will do and you can either accept that, not accept that or join the fuck in, swish boy.”

“Swish boy?” Moriarty looks amused. “Oh I do  _love_  the pet names you’re giving me. You know, this almost feels like a partnership already. Ah fuck it, I will join in.”

He drains his entire champagne flute before doing the same with another glass, keeping pace with you.

“This is fun,” he giggles conspiratorially, leaning forward and motioning for you to come closer. “This is the most fun date I’ve been on.”

“Oh it’s a date, is it?” you fire back. “You think you’ll get lucky after this?”

You instantly regret being so sassy with him when you see the fires of lust start burning in his eyes. He inhales deeply before turning his gaze back to you.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want that too,” he says, his voice dropping to something raspy. “Remember I felt how much you wanted me in the library.”

You couldn’t think of any response that wouldn’t set him off so you just drank more and he watched you like a hawk, keeping the exact same pace.

Food came from nowhere and you didn’t even remember ordering but it was something you would’ve picked for yourself.

“Did I miss something?” you swallow hard.

“Oh I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Moriarty suddenly leans back in his chair, idly twirling his fork.

“How did you know what I’d want?”

“Easy,” Moriarty shrugs like it was an annoying question. “Your Instagram. You do post a lot of food pictures. Also I’ve seen your fridge.”

“Oh.”

Why would you expect anything less really? Moriarty was a person who would always do his research.

“So dig in,” Moriarty nods, daintily picking at his own food.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable but you push it out of your mind as you hungrily wolf down the meal, grateful for any kind of sustenance. It had been a long time and your stomach growled as you filled it with the most succulent food you’d ever tasted.

“My my that’s a healthy appetite,” Moriarty remarks. “Although I suppose…whoopsy! I didn’t feed you, did I? My bad.”

You just shrug, continuing your systematic destruction of the plate. You could feel him watching you the whole time.

“You eat with such chaos,” he murmurs, absolutely fascinated. “Normally folks just eat in some sort of order but you go for everything. Astonishing.”

“Could you concentrate on your own stuff?” you snap. “You’re making me self conscious here.”

“But I’m having fun. Don’t spoil my fun,” you know that tone means conversation closed.

“Please Moriarty?” you try.

He shivers slightly, “Well….alright then but dessert will be a lot more fun.”

“Thank you.”

Soon you had nothing left and you were down to the dregs of your champagne bottle. You felt satiated, sharper, like you were ready to take him on at full tilt again.

“So what part of the game is this?” you ask boldly. “The one where you try and make me get feelings for you?”

“Oh this isn’t anything to do with it,” Moriarty smiles enigmatically. “It’s just bonding time, plus I was hungry.”

Your plates are whisked away and now you’re served with one big dessert that’s placed in the centre of the table with two spoons.

“Oh no, I don’t share,” you huff.

“This is what  _normal_  people do, isn’t it?” Moriarty crinkles his nose in disgust. “On their  _normal_  dates. Would you have shared ice cream with  _Daniel_?”

“Okay enough about fucking Daniel,” you hiss. “Shut up about fucking Daniel! I’d never even met him!”

You notice eyes glancing your way and you stare them down, daring them to say something. Moriarty has the biggest grin on his face when you turn back to him and you want to wipe the expression away so you do something that was guaranteed to get you killed but right now you didn’t care. You were too angry.

You grabbed a spoon, a massive scoop of ice cream and flung it at him. It hit his face, dropping down his suit and he seemed absolutely shocked. Neither of you said anything for ages and you were regretting your impulsive action more and more as he surveyed himself with cold anger.

“This. Was. Westwood,” he growls.

“It’ll dry clean, stop being a fucking baby about it,” you spit in your rage, unable to stop yourself any more.

Moriarty turned his head to the other patrons who were just staring at the drama unfolding and you could swear he was embarrassed. He produced a gun from his jacket and fired it into the ceiling causing everyone to scream.

“GET OUT!” he roars, standing up and firing more shots at random into the crowd. “GET OUT ALL OF YOU! HOW DARE YOU LOOK AT ME!”

The patrons scattered, the waiters flung themselves into the backroom and you had half an inkling that the police would not be far behind.

Once the room was clear he reaches over the table, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you onto it.

“Do you think you’re funny, Mina?” he says in a dangerously low voice. “Ruining my expensive suit? Humiliating me in front of the restaurant?”

“I think I’m fucking hilarious,” you counter, glaring at him. “It’s a much better colour.”

He looks at the pale mint mess on his lapel and starts chuckling, “You’re right actually. This would be a better shade. Now how about you be a good girl and stay still.”

He grabs a handful of ice cream himself and smears it down your chin to your chest. You gasp at the cold sensation but he doesn’t let up. Before you know it his mouth is on you, licking up the dessert with earnest and you’re disappointed to discover you’re slightly enjoying it. You’re even slightly writhing under his ministrations.

What the hell was wrong with you?! He’d just fired a gun at people and possibly hit them. He might have killed someone and here you were letting him use you as his own personal dessert platter.

“No,” you rasp, pushing him away but the hand in your hair just winds tighter and he bodily moves onto you, his other hand expertly working your skin.

“Give in, Mina,” his breath tickles your ear. “ _Give in_.”

“No!” you repeat, taking the new champagne bottle and pouring the contents over him to try and get him to move but instead he just treats it like a luxurious shower.

“Oh….my girl likes mess, does she?” Moriarty chuckles. “Come on, give in…give in, give in, give in. You’re moving against me like you want me to fuck you hard. Don’t lie to me.”

“Stop,” you warn him. “You’re not winning Moriarty. Stop.”

There’s such a feral growl as he lifts off you before pulling you to the edge of the table where he pushes between your legs.

“I’ll stop if you admit it,” he says in a sing song voice, grinding against you.

You’re caught in a bind. If you admit you actually wanted this psychopath to take you on this table then he’d try even harder to get you to break. If you said nothing, he’d keep going and you weren’t sure you could hold onto the threads of your sanity any more.

Where the fucking hell were the police when you needed them?! Surely someone must have called them by now?!

“Tick tock, Mina,” Moriarty’s hand trails down your throat. “If you say nothing I’ll just continue.”

“Fine, okay!” you wrap your legs around him, squeezing hard. “There’s some weird sexual tension between us.”

“No no no, you know that’s not what I want to hear,” he grins.

You swallow your pride, keen to stop this before it goes too far and you can never come back, “Alright, I want you Moriarty.”

“ _Mina_ ,” his eyes roll back. “Second game point to you. You really are going to make me lose control. I  _love_  it!”

You hear men moving down the stairs towards the restaurant and catch the voice of Sherlock ordering them not to barge in.

“Oh nooooo,” Moriarty groans in frustration. “Time’s up, I’m afraid.”

He yanks you off the table and holds you in front of him, the gun now pressed into your head just as Sherlock and John Watson burst through the door.

“Let her go,” Sherlock says cautiously, assessing the room. “Come on, you have no more need for her.”

“I have  _every_  need for her,” Moriarty croons. “Don’t you see how useful she is? Of course not because you’re so wrapped up in your own SELFISH NEEDS! You really have no idea why I kept her, do you?”

“She’s very….pretty,” Sherlock tries.

“Well yes,” Moriarty sighs. “But you and I both know that looks are not what drive us, well…not exclusively.”

“Are you alright, Wilhelmina?” Sherlock directs his question to you.

“No,” you admit.

“We’ll save you,” John says earnestly. “We will.”

“She doesn’t need saving, boys,” Moriarty licks a line up your cheek. “She  _likes_  me and I’ll be taking her home now.”

“No no, wait!” Sherlock holds up his hands.

“You’ve spoiled our date, Sherlock,” Moriarty pouts. “I was really getting somewhere. Lads, move in.”

Several mercenaries flooded through from the kitchen and surrounded Sherlock and John, guns trained on them. Moriarty meanwhile pulls you back through a side door, yelling to the consulting detective.

“Ta ta for now.”

He drags you back into the staff room before you realise you’re in a car park and Conrad is waiting with the blacked out vehicle. You’re stuffed into the backseat haphazardly as you get moving and Moriarty is pinning you down on the seat.

“What a very successful evening,” his eyes sparkle with sheer lunacy. “I really must congratulate you, Mina. You’re a more formidable combatant than I thought.”

“Obviously,” you feign confidence.

He gets back up off you, straightening out his suit, “Can’t wait to see how the next bit goes.”

Somehow that gave you no comfort at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty does something unexpected that leads you to 221B Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly guys, your comments and support for this fic have really made me happy.  
> I'm so glad you like this close to character Moriarty <3  
> Enjoy the chapter  
> \- TLP xx  
> (May be proofreading errors)

The car ride back is quite silent and you feel like it’s taking a lot longer. Maybe Conrad was taking some back roads.

“Twenty questions?” you sigh.

“Are you….are you  _bored_ , Mina?” Moriarty says incredulously. “Am I boring you?!”

The thought runs through your head that Moriarty seemed to pride himself on being unpredictable, interesting. Perhaps this was the way to destroy him psychologically enough that it would present an escape opportunity.

“Do I look entertained?” you look at him, only making out his wide eyes in the dim light.

“No no no,” he mutters, seemingly devastated. “This won’t do. Conrad, stop the car.”

Immediately Conrad pulls over. Moriarty tents his hands, putting them up to his lips for a moment, calculating. Then he does something you don’t expect at all.

He opens the door and gestures to you.

“Go on then,” he says. “Off you go.”

“What?” you blink.

“GO!” he roars.

Part of you thinks it’s a trap, the other part wants to make that desperate bid for freedom. You had the feeling though that even if he  _was_  offering you freedom there would be strings attached. You still needed to keep some kind of power play.

You get up, before leaning over him, boxing him into the seat. You came so close to kissing him but kept that level of distance, the intention clear. He hadn’t broken you. Then you just straightened up and got out of the car.

“Catch you later, Moriarty,” you say as nonchalantly as you can.

“Not if I catch you first,” Moriarty calls out jovially before shutting the door and the car drives away.

Somehow you think that’s exactly what he plans to do.

Your first instinct tells you to find the nearest police station but you find you’re on Chiltern Street which is only one street over from Baker Street. Sherlock would be the better option right now.

You walk in the stupid clicky heels you’d had to wear, aware you looked like a complete catastrophe. You’re sure women doing the walk of shame looked more put together than you. Your skin felt immensely sticky from the ice cream still.

When you got to 221B, you bang on the door so hard you heard something crash in one of the flats. A beleaguered older woman answered the door in a fluster.

“Goodness me!” she exclaims, upon seeing you. “Come on in, dearie. You look half dead! I’ll put the kettle on!”

“I’m fine, really,” you try and explain but she just bundles you inside. “I was coming to talk to-”

“Sherlock, I know,” she smiles sweetly before shouting up the stairs. “Sherlock! Another client!”

“I’m busy, Mrs Hudson,” comes the agitated reply.

“It’s a girl and she looks distressed.”

“They’re  _all_  distressed, Mrs Hudson.”

“Tell him it’s about Moriarty,” you say to her.

The door opens before she can even relay that message and Sherlock stands at the top of the stairs in nothing but a tatty bath robe. His eyes go wide when he sees you and he points. It vaguely reminds you of Invasion of the Body Snatchers the way he shakes as he singles you out.

“You!” he says.

You watch John Watson peep around the corner, spot you and duck under Sherlock’s arms before jogging down the stairs and taking your arm.

“Oh my god, are you alright?!” he says, checking you over.

“I’m going to need so much therapy,” you joke and he smiles warmly at you. “I…I didn’t know what to do.”

“You’ve come to the right place. We’ll keep you safe,” John assures you. “Sherlock, for god’s sake get out of the doorway.”

“Yes, quite. Bring her up here,” Sherlock blusters. “I need to analyse her just in case she’s a sleeper agent.”

“A what…a…Sherlock! Look at her! She’s shaking!”

You didn’t realise you  _were_  shaking until he mentioned it.

“Oh,” you say curiously. “That’s not good is it?”

“Come on, I have some clothes you can change into. They’re not very stylish but-”

“Anything to get me out of this dress,” you interrupt, pulling at the material. “I just want it off.”

“Sure, sure,” John nods, leading you up the stairs where Sherlock finally gets out of the door frame and sits with a twirl and a thump onto an armchair that had long since lost its fluffiness. “Ah come in my room, I’ll sort some things out for you and you can use the shower and such.”

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.

He leaves you with a pile of clean clothing and you immediately tear the dress from you, treating it like it had scalded you. When you stepped into the shower, it was almost like you allowed yourself to be human again, to think before you acted, to slow down. You had no idea how on edge you’d been, the constant adrenalin rush. It was exhausting. All you wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

You dressed in the jogging bottoms and hoodie that John provided before stepping back out where Sherlock was twanging the strings of a violin and Mrs Hudson was having a disagreement with John.

“I mean really, she looks like she’s been abused,” Mrs Hudson stresses. “Is it wise to leave her with…you know…he’s not very sensitive is he?”

“I know but it’s the only chance he’s going to get to find out Moriarty’s psyche,” John sighs. “I don’t want to do this either Mrs Hudson. The girl is definitely exhibiting some PTSD symptoms. God knows what Moriarty did to her.”

“PTSD? As bad as that?” Mrs Hudson gasps in horror. “Oh I will definitely need to add some biscuits when I make tea.”

“Take’s a person who’s experienced it to know it,” John says grimly. “I can tell she’s hypervigilant, trying to hold herself together and she’s more reactive than a normal person.”

“Clearly you  _aren’t_ , John,” Sherlock says scathingly. “Because you didn’t notice she’s been standing behind you for five minutes.”

John whirls around, acutely embarrassed, “Oh god, I’m sorry, I just-”

“It’s okay,” you nod. “You’re right and I want to talk about it.”

“Milk and sugar, dear?” Mrs Hudson asks.

“Please,” you say gratefully.

“I’ll get you some custard creams too,” she winks before going to the downstairs flat.

“Sit,” Sherlock says.

You oblige on a chair that seems like they stole it from a primary school.

“You’re exhibiting PTSD,” Sherlock says more to himself than you. “If that’s in such a short space of time then your time with Moriarty was traumatic. Given his reference to your restaurant location as a ‘date’ I’d say he’s taken a romantic interest in you, with some severe sexual overtones. You had ice cream down your chest and neck and a gun to your head.”

Without warning he throws a stress ball at your face and you revert back to instinct, catching it, throwing it back and leaping up from the chair, boxing him into it whilst breathing heavily.

“Sherlock! For god’s sake!” John cries, trying to calm you down whilst you try and collect yourself.

“Interesting,” Sherlock notes. “An aggressive response to sudden stimuli. Moriarty is unpredictable, chaotic. I noted from your flat and your work projects you have a tendency to speak before you think. Being around Moriarty has made you regress to primal emotions.”

He seems very pleased with himself but you’re on the verge of crying. John’s trying his best to keep you stable.

“Sherlock, the man is a monster and you’re triggering the memories for her,” he hisses. “Stop it.”

“I need to know how he has this network, John,” Sherlock says firmly. “And now I do.”

John waited for a moment before he raised his eyebrows in annoyance, “ _And_?”

“You’re aware of cults? The idea is to isolate, bombard with attention then withdraw, to separate the candidate from rational thoughts and morals, to remould them, to provoke aggressive loyalty.”

“She doesn’t seem like she wants to go back particularly,” John rolls his eyes.

“He let me go,” you murmur. “Just up and let me go because I called him boring. I don’t think he’s truly gone though.”

“He’s testing you,” Sherlock muses. “Stay here tonight.”

“What?” you blink just as Mrs Hudson comes up with tea and biscuits.

“Mrs Hudson, Wilhelmina will be joining us this evening, I trust this is acceptable,” Sherlock continues.

“Oo wonderful,” she coos. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, dear.”

“Yes, good. Now go away,” Sherlock dismisses her with a gesture.

“It’s Mina by the way,” you cut in.

Sherlock coughs, “Mina then. Stay.”

“Look, if Moriarty is going to try something else you’ll be safer here than going home,” John says as the rational one in the room.

“Alright then,” you nod.

“Excellent,” Sherlock nods. “You can take John’s room.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” you insist.

“As you wish,” Sherlock seems to shut off from you a little bit and you realise just how bizarre he really is.

You’re automatically gravitating towards John as the clear sympathiser out of the two.

“I’ve got some spare blankets,” he says warmly. “I’ll just get them now.”

You watch him go and turn back to find Sherlock suddenly leaning forward and staring at you intensely.

“Why you?” he murmurs, face scrunched in thought. “Unremarkable. Ordinary. Above average intelligence but not exemplary.”

“Are you always this rude or are you afraid of your own feelings and connecting to people?” you raise an eyebrow.

He leans back abruptly, “Very good. Now I see. Moriarty said emotional intelligence. You’re more in tune with people.”

“So are you,” you counter. “You can analyse a person in seconds and what they’re displaying through their gestures and body language.”

“Right,” he says, looking a little perturbed. “John?! Hurry up please.”

Sherlock didn’t like being called out it seems. Whereas Moriarty accepted your observations and built upon them, Sherlock closed himself off. They really were the opposites of each other.

“She’s just a woman, Sherlock. She’s not going to bite you,” John calls back, still gathering items.

“Don’t go back to him,” Sherlock says quietly.

“Sorry?” you blink.

“Moriarty. I can see there’s a pull there. You both have the same chaotic nature but in different levels. I can only hope he’s not indoctrinated himself too much into your life. You seemed….heightened when we arrived at that restaurant and I was concerned you’d fallen too far.”

“I can separate sexual advances from morality,” you fire back, angry at his insinuation.

“Yes, well,” he turns and you know that the word 'sorry’ doesn’t appear much in his vocabulary.

John re-enters, giving you the blankets and pillows and you finish your cup of tea before setting it up.

“Come on Sherlock,” John prompts. “Let’s leave the girl in peace.”

Sherlock says nothing but gets up, flouncing off in that ridiculous bath robe and John just gives you an apologetic shrug before heading to his room too.

You just get yourself comfy on the sofa which wasn’t as bad as you expected. You didn’t really imagine it would be easy to fall asleep but the horrors of the day had just left you exhausted and you drifted off very quickly.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

You got up, looking at the window where you saw movement for a brief second.

Tap tap.

Was someone throwing stones?

You moved to the bay windows and opened one before looking out.

The sight of Moriarty with his hands in his pockets grinning at you from the street made your heart start hammering. He said nothing but produced a 99 ice cream cone and held it up so you could see, winking at you. Then he licked it obscenely and you felt a shiver of half revulsion and half interest run through you.

He just put one finger to his lips in a 'shhh’ motion before walking away, throwing a lit match behind him which sparked some kind of flammable liquid on the road outside. It took a while but eventually you saw that it spelled out a message and you ended up half yelling for Sherlock and John.

They burst out of their rooms, both in pyjamas as they saw the flicker of the flames outside.

“Oh my god, are you alright?!” John cries and you just point to the words outside.

“Moriarty,” Sherlock growls and John grabs your shoulder, squeezing it for comfort.

The flames started to recede a little but the message was still burning bright.

> **MISS ME?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After days of hiding out with Sherlock, it’s driving you mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, finally all caught up after moving and whatnot!  
> Back to a regular schedule with this.  
> Happy reading guys!  
> \- TLP xx  
> (Some proof reading errors)

After three whole days of nothing and interacting with Sherlock, you were ready to tear your own eyes out.

Moriarty never re-appeared after that night but you got the suspicion he was watching. It was stupid to think he  _wasn’t_  watching. He was unpredictable sure but he calculated every outcome within seconds and you knew he had many contingency plans. A psychopathic lunatic he may be but he was a smart one.

Sherlock on the other hand….John had had to physically step in a few times to stop situations escalating. Sherlock just seemed to push your buttons in the worst way. You weren’t sure if he was just naturally doing it or deliberately testing your limits, somehow still on the notion that you were Moriarty’s ‘disciple’.

After one particularly needling comment when you were trying to help them solve a pattern of accounting discrepancies for a case you all but stood up, shaking with frustration.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you directly ask him.

“Not at all, you’re just inefficient,” Sherlock doesn’t even look at you. “There’s much faster ways of cross referencing the anomalies.”

“Oh I’m sure,” you huff. “You know what, I’ll just sit over here. You carry on.”

You grab one of the books from John’s desk and lie on the sofa, trying to calm yourself down before you end up saying something you’ll regret. John himself just sighs and buries himself in his blog work, no doubt trying to ignore Sherlock as well.

“But I’ve asked for your help,” Sherlock finally looks up, seeing you hide your face with the book.

“Sherlock, you’re just insulting her at this point. She did this for a living,” John wades in, trying to help you out.

“Well not very well it seems,” Sherlock shakes his head.

Slam!

The book hits the floor and you sit there trying to restrain yourself, “That’s it. I’m not staying here another moment. You’re intolerable, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Mina, calm down. We can talk about this,” John tries to reason.

“No, no we can’t,” you cut him off. “I feel on edge, John. This is how I felt being around Moriarty for Christ’s sake, like I can’t switch off. I just want to be-”

“Normal,” Sherlock finishes for you, standing up and towering over you. “But you’re not normal Mina. You can thrive in higher pressure environments much better than most even in law enforcement. Anyone normal would’ve reached their limit on the first day with the tests I’ve been laying out for you.”

So there it was. Sherlock  _was_  doing this deliberately. He was just as bad as Moriarty.

“I can see why you’re both participating in this pissing contest,” you fold your arms. “You’re both the same, you and Moriarty. Same disregard for other’s emotions, same slightly sadistic tendencies, same belief that you’re somehow better than everyone else.”

You get a minute flash of guilt as a tiny expression of hurt crosses Sherlock’s features. Clearly you’d wounded him deeply but he was desperate not to show it. Even John seemed shocked.

“I’m sorry,” you hang your head. “That was very harsh of me.”

“Harsh but a  _true_  observation,” Sherlock says hesitantly. “All of this helps me understand the kind of person Moriarty is and the influence he has on people. I’m….I’m sorry he’s caused you pain.”

You blink in astonishment.

Sherlock Holmes was just sympathetic to you.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly. “Are you going to stop putting me through the mill now?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nods. “I have most of what I need. Accompany us. We’re going to inspect a dead body and I’m curious to see what you think.”

He walks past you, leaving you completely blindsided whilst John makes to speak but thinks better of it.

“Did he just say dead body?” you ask.

“You don’t have to,” John assures you, standing up and gathering his shoes.

“I…I don’t want to be alone,” you look at the floor, slightly embarrassed. “What if Moriarty comes here? What if he hurts Mrs Hudson?”

You’d become quite fond of the eccentric lady downstairs with her sweet demeanour and hidden gun collection. She had some terrific stories that had you howling with laughter and she seemed happy to have a female influence in 221 for once.

“You don’t think he’ll break in here if you’re out?” John asks.

“He’s definitely got me under surveillance,” you look out the window, noting the middle aged man who’d been sat on the bench for the last three hours reading. “He’ll know when I leave.”

“I wish this didn’t have to be this way,” John pats you on the shoulder. “I know Sherlock can be trying, especially when he’s pulling tricks on you but I said we’ll keep you safe and I intend to honour that.”

“Thank you,” you nod. “I guess I have a dead body to look at then.”

“It’s not as weird as you think,” John smiles brightly. “You’ll be fine.”

  
  


**

  
  


It  _was_  weird.

There was something so surreal about viewing a body devoid of life. From sight alone, it looks like a practical stage effect for some movie but the smells….the smells were what brought it to life. It was a horrid mix of chemicals and a scent of rotting meat mixed with decaying fruit.

“Oh I’m sorry,” the mortician notices your green face. “It gets better. Just give it like…a minute.”

“Molly, this is Mina,” Sherlock says curtly before lifting up the sheet to view the corpse closer.

“And are you….” Molly hesitates, gesturing between the two of you with a look of minor disappointment.

“That’s a firm no,” you say so bluntly she ends up laughing nervously.

“Come on, Molly, it’s Sherlock,” John raises an eyebrow, speaking quietly so Sherlock doesn’t hear. “He’s never shown interest…ever, in either sex.”

“I get that,” she nods. “Sorry, Mina, I just…anyway, dead bodies right? Kind of smelly…”

“Horrible,” you wrinkle your nose.

“You really do stop smelling it after a while,” she assures you. “I keep a bucket nearby in case it gets too much.”

“Mina,” Sherlock clicks his fingers like you’re waiting staff.

You give John and Molly a massive roll of your eyes before turning back to the consulting detective and joining him.

“What do you make of this?” he asks, pointing to some bruising on the torso.

“Um,” you lean closer, trying to ignore your gag reflex. “Looks like a blunt instrument.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock sighs. “Try again.”

You shoot him a venomous glare and he attempts to soften his approach, “You can do better than that, I mean.”

You  _really_  take a look, wondering just why the hell he was asking you to do things that were far beyond your knowledge and remit. It suddenly clicked that you knew that particular shape that the welt was massing into.

“That’s a hole punch,” you squint. “Someone hit him with a hole punch? He was killed in an office?”

“What makes you say office?” Sherlock prompts and you barely notice the natural segue he gives you into your own observations.

“Looks like a Staedtler brand. Standard office issue. Most people just buy cheap supermarket ones if they want home use from them. I mean it could have been stolen from the office but tensions are usually higher with the people you work with.”

“And it usually comes to a loggerhead over project deadlines” Sherlock gives you a minute tilt of the head. “Not bad, Mina.”

You assume that’s a high form of praise coming from him. You even see John beaming at you and you can’t help but smile yourself even though you’re smiling next to a dead body.

Greg Lestrade appears, waving Sherlock and John over.

“Always interruptions,” Sherlock mutters before following Lestrade out.

You’re left with Molly and you automatically move away from the slab, finding it a bit uncomfortable. She gives you a sympathetic look before her phone goes off.

“Excuse me,” she says meekly before walking out of the morgue.

Being left alone in here was a different experience entirely. You hated it. The silence was so oppressive and it seemed to make the smell worse in a way.

You had the irrational thought for a second that the body might suddenly rise up from the slab but you quashed it. You were just uncomfortable and making up things.

A tapping from the freezer unit nearly changed your entire perspective on ghosts and zombies. I mean it had to just be some pipes being squeaky right?

The tapping came again and you decided to put on your big girl knickers and check it out. Even if it was just a mouse or something you could set your mind at ease. You didn’t want Sherlock to come back and you be on edge over something stupid.

Your hand rests on the chilled metal latch for a while as the tapping comes once again, startling you a little and then you take a deep breath before opening the door. All that’s inside is a body underneath a sheet that’s completely still.

You don’t hear anything so you pull the trolley out, trying to check for something inside the compartment but again you see nothing.

Were you just imagining things now?

Before you could even put a hand on the trolley to move it back, the body sprung up, the sheet falling away and a cold hand was pressed to your mouth to stop you screaming.

“Miss me?” Moriarty pouts before holding a knife to you. “Climb on, Mina.”

Seriously?!

He shifts, pulling you onto the trolley and rolling you under him, using the sides of the freezer container to push you both back in before pulling the door closed and pulling out his phone to text. You just look around you, convinced you were going to suffocate in this tiny box with Moriarty lying on top of you. Fortunately there was a breeze coming into the compartment and you realised he must have customised it to make breathable air in here.

You hear from the other side, a latch clicking back into place.

“Well hello,” he grins at you.

“Have you been there the whole time?” you say nonchalantly, trying to calm your furiously beating heart but you’re sure he knows since he’s pressed tightly against you.

“You’re worth waiting for,” he winks, his cold forehead pressing to yours. “Now shhhhh, be quiet now. The next bit is gonna be…..awesome.”

You just patiently look at the side of the compartment until you feel a rush of air and you’re brought out into the bright light of the day. Moriarty must have had a hole drilled in the side of the hospital.

“Everything okay, boss?” Conrad asks, helping him climb off you and then picking you up and setting you down.

“Hunky dory,” Moriarty nods. “You got what I asked for?”

“In the car,” Conrad replies.

“Coming, Mina or are you now besties with Sherlock?” Moriarty gives you a raised eyebrow. “The accountant turned detective. From boring to boring…er.”

There was no going back. If Moriarty was making such an extravagant display to kidnap you again, you really had no options. You  _had_  to go with him.

“Says the consulting criminal,” you roll your eyes, walking into the car. “Did you get that from a Netflix documentary or a Victorian penny dreadful?”

“Oh I’ve missed your wit,” Moriarty purrs, running a cold hand down the back of your neck. “Don’t ever leave again, Mina. I’ve changed. I promise.”

When you sit down, there’s two steaming mugs of what appear to be hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top and star sprinkles. Moriarty just hands you one.

“Sprinkles?” you question.

“Who says food and drink needs to be dull?” Moriarty smirks. “You of all people should know what I’m like with my food.”

The memory of him licking ice cream from your chest on the restaurant table makes you uncomfortable and you shift slightly, gripping the mug tighter for the warmth. It’d been less than ten minutes and he was already getting under your skin again.

“Reminiscing?” he notes, studying your face. “Fond memories? Oh Mina….I would lick an entire dessert table from you.”

He watches the slight flush creep into your cheeks and just laughs before drinking from the mug, colour returning to his pallid, grey skin.

He sets his mug down before taking yours from your grasp before you’ve even had a chance to taste it. He then grips your jawline violently, pushing your head back into the seat before straddling you as the car finally sets off.

“So, how was he?” Moriarty asks levelly.

“Annoying,” you say honestly.

“Oh really?” Moriarty seems amused. “Tell me more.”

“One of the most abrasive men I’ve ever met. Completely without empathy,” you continue and Moriarty grinds against you slightly, almost like he’s getting off on you trash talking Sherlock. “Threw a ball at my face within the first ten minutes of meeting me.”

“HE WHAT?!” Moriarty stops, becoming intensely angry. “He threw….a ball….at your face?”

“Yeah…” you trail off.

“AT YOUR FACE!” he slams the seat near your head. “MY MINA! HOW DARE HE!”

He gathers himself, smoothing back the errant hairs that had dislodged from his perfectly coiffed style before taking a breath and grinning, letting out a tiny giggle, “I’m going to flay him alive, Mina. I’m bored of my game with him. Officially.”

“Why? Because he threw something at me? Seems like giving up,” you just blurt out.

Oh no. You’d instantly reverted back to saying the first thing that came into your head. There was something about this man that drew it out of you and it was terrifying.

“I really  _have_ missed you,” he says very intensely. “You bring order to my chaos but also expand on it. It’s just…. _perfect_. Now drink up.”

He hands the mug back and you sip at it, tasting the expensive cocoa that had just a hint of a herbal edge in it. The way he was watching you though….almost like he was waiting for something.

“What did you do to it?” you ask firmly.

“Oh you noticed?” he says casually. “I’m so readable, aren’t I? It’s an enhancer.”

“A…what?” you blink, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through you that’s nothing to do with the hot chocolate.

“I’m upping the ante on our own game,” Moriarty trails a finger along your cheekbone. “I want to see if you break.”

“You….you drugged me?” the heat travels further and you realise it’s not a roofie, it’s more of a sexual enhancer.

Shit. You were so screwed now. You hadn’t betted on Moriarty cheating like this.

“I’m just making the score more even,” Moriarty shrugs. “I feel like you’ve had such an unfair advantage, Mina.”

“You’re cheating!” you push him away, a lot weaker than you should’ve been.

He looks absolutely affronted, mouth wide in shock and eyes agog, “EXCUSE ME?! I would never!”

“You slipped me some weird viagra thing!” you growl, aware you’re half panting now, the throbbing starting between your legs in a very bad way.

“I just want to fuck you all the time and you seem to have an iron will,” Moriarty shrugs. “So now I’m seeing how much will power you  _really_ have. Care to test it?”

He’s issuing you a challenge, a challenge that will be nigh on impossible to win but if you don’t agree……he still had the knife after all. Who knows what he’d do?

“You won’t win,” you snarl back.

He presses against you, hands either side of your face in a much softer motion as his lips are barely centimetres away from yours. His gaze was so intense, so full of fire that you couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

What the fuck were you doing?! You were letting this drug cloud your mind already.

“Are you so sure, Mina?” he whispers, his grin wide.

“Yes,” you say firmly, gathering your waning resolve and glaring at him.

“Then let’s find out,” he mouths against your cheek, lips brushing against your skin.

_I should have followed Sherlock and John._

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how much more of this can you take before Moriarty breaks you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, had some illness to get over.  
> Back with a new chapter!  
> Expect violence, expect the unexpected!  
> \- TLP xx  
> (Proof reading errors possible)

Your resolve was close to breaking point.

Moriarty seemed to be taking a much softer approach. He was still pinning you to the seat but his touch was gentle, almost more of a caress than his usual rough advances.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he purrs near your ear. “You want this so badly, don’t you little Mina? Tell me.”

You just stare defiantly at him, your heaving chest completely giving you away but you wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction of hearing the words. You couldn’t give into him, not under any circumstances. What kind of person would you be?

“Still fighting me, hmmm?” he traces his fingers along the insides of your legs. “Look at you. So rebellious, so angry, so…. _wanton_. I  _need_ to have you.”

“Tough,” you manage to spit out. “Will take more than cheap tricks.”

“Cheap?!” he draws back in aggrievance. “These are legitimate tactics! You could’ve poisoned me any time you liked, you know. Any of those bottles in the bathroom would’ve done me in if you were determined enough.”

Why did he make you feel so simultaneously stupid and outraged at your own morals? Sure you could’ve killed him but it never even entered your mind. You just stayed within the confines of what  _you_ defined as the rules of his game. You’d projected your own ethical code onto it and not even considered beyond that.

He holds your throat tightly, squeezing it, “Just like this, Mina. You could’ve even killed me like this but you didn’t. I need that fire I saw in the library. I love your violence, I love your chaos. Why do you struggle so hard against who you are?”

“Because it’s not who I am,” you growl. “I’m a good person.”

Moriarty just laughs in your face, “Goodness is subjective. There are shades and scales. There is only chaos and order and order is just sooooooo-”

“Boring,” you finish for him.

“Aww you get me,” Moriarty’s face mirrors an actress getting an award. “You really get me. Oh I’m so happy. Celebrate with me.”

He grips your head in place whilst he ladles a passionate and messy kiss on your lips before pulling away, his eyes practically sparkling with excitement.

“Chaos brought me to you, Mina. A random choice after a random choice after a random choice. So tell me, what do you prefer? Sherlock’s order or….me?”

That was a question you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t answer it because the answer scared you to your very soul.

In Sherlock’s presence you were agitated, berated and felt like a bird in a gilded…okay maybe not gilded, cage. In Moriarty’s presence, all your senses were alive and it was both a rush and completely draining.

“Curious,” Moriarty cocks his head. “You know most people would’ve said Sherlock by now just to spite me. You’re actually thinking it through.”

You make to open your mouth but can’t find the words.

“SPEAK!” Moriarty barks at you and you flinch a little.

“I need somewhere in the middle,” you blurt out, your filter overridden by your fear.

“Oooooo, I wasn’t expecting that,” Moriarty’s eyes widen in delight. “An out of the box answer. I like it, I like it. So you need a fun time but also to recuperate?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Perfect,” Moriarty nips at the point on your neck that had only just begun fading from his last bruising bite. “Because I need someone Mina. I need someone to pull me back from all of these ideas that just keep swimming in my head, they just keep going round and round and round and FUCKING ROUND AND IT DOESN’T STOP.”

Madness stems from genius. Moriarty was no different. He was infinitely clever but when his brain wasn’t occupied he seemed to just descend into erratic behaviour.

You do it before you realise, holding his hands as he attempts to slap them against his head. He just stares in abject surprise at them before launching himself on you, pushing you down across the length of the car seats.

The drug was starting to eke from your system but the effects were still very much there and you involuntarily end up grinding against him as his pelvis rocks a little between your legs.

“Oh god,  _Mina_ ,” he growls before harshly biting at the the exposed flesh on your cleavage, savaging another signature into your skin. “ _Mine_. Mine and no one else’s.”

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, the jolt of pain translating to something very different.

Shit you were losing this battle and badly. You needed to keep it together. You couldn’t let him have you.

“Jesus, say that again. Fucking muuuuuusic,” he groans.

“Enough, no,” you push against him, clearing your senses a little.

His hand winds into your hair at the root and pulls you into an upright position, “How can you stand it? The ache, the  _need_. I know you’re suffering, I can see it written all over your face. Let me help you, Mina, let me help you like you’ve helped me. Let me claim you.”

The car stops and Conrad’s voice comes through a speaker in the compartment, “Here boss.”

Moriarty lets out the most feral roar of frustration before readjusting himself and regarding you coldly. The switch is completely unexpected and you half wonder whether you’ve pushed him too far now, teased him too much, denied him too much.

“Make yourself presentable,” he says before getting out of the car.

You hurriedly smooth your clothing down, raking your fingers through your hair to tame the knots from Moriarty’s ministrations.

When you exit the car, you’re ushered into a very grandiose looking building and you’re actually half wondering if you’re in the Houses of Parliament.

You’re lead to an opulent room that houses just two ostentatious sofas where a lithe man with a very unforgivingly severe face sits, regarding the people milling about with distain.

“Ah, wonderful,” he says with a smile that’s not really a smile, more a quick jerk of the lips. “This is her I assume?”

“This is the one that Sherlock’s been testing, yes,” Moriarty responds demurely, his hands crossed in front of him neatly. “I’ve been observing him throughout the aforementioned control tests and he’s displaying heroism and….friendliness.”

“Friendliness,” the man scoffs. “I suppose he’ll be wearing a cape and hiding in the shadows to take on crime directly soon. Such a fantasist, my dear brother of mine.”

“Brother?” you can’t help but interject. “You’re Sherlock’s brother?”

“Yes Wilhelmina, I’m Mycroft Holmes,” he nods curtly. “You’ve been part of an experiment to ascertain whether my brother is still mentally fit. The media attention has been quite harrying and I did fear he was….what’s the expression….losing it?”

“Wait so….” you trail off. “What was real? I don’t….”

“Maybe I should introduce myself better,” Moriarty smiles warmly at you. “I’m Jim Moran. I’m actually an actor hired by Mr Holmes.”

“Then why was I involved?!” you become angry. “Why didn’t anyone let me into this plan at any fucking time it was happening?!”

“Do curb your language, young lady,” Mycroft tuts. “The believability of the thing would’ve been compromised if you’d been a party to it.”

“PEOPLE DIED!” you shout, the sound echoing off the walls and Mycroft flinches slightly, the teacup scraping against the saucer he was holding.

“Do you have any idea what the British Government does?” Mycroft huffs. “Sometimes casualties happen.”

“Do you not care at all?!” you rage. “My whole team was killed! A bomb was set off!”

“Interesting,” Mycroft muses. “You care more about others than your own wellbeing. I’m informed by Mr Moran that he was quite thorough with your conditioning and it wasn’t pleasant yet….you don’t seem to care.”

“Oh I care,” you ball your fists. “But your sheer callousness at people’s lives? Who the fuck do you think you are? All of this just to check on Sherlock’s mental health? Why not fucking visit him like a normal person!”

“Because I’m not normal, my dear and I’d appreciate it if you kept your voice down,” Mycroft peers at you like you’re a naughty school child. “My brother refuses to engage with me and he’s involved in some very high level missions ongoing that is far above your clearance to know about.”

God you just want to throw that teapot all over him. The sheer smugness and disapproval rolling off him was working you up into complete ire.

“You want to hurt me, I assume,” Mycroft regards you. “I assure you it wouldn’t be easy and you would likely come off worse for it. Let me just say you will be handsomely reimbursed for your part in all this. Enough that you won’t ever need to work again. Now please leave me and Mr Moran whilst we talk business.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak without being vile so you just turn sharply on your heels and stalk out into the main room as Moriarty….Jim, just shuts the double doors with an apologetic shrug.

You just mull over the implications of what had just happened.

The entire thing was a complete hoax and Moriarty was just an actor. Something about that didn’t sit right. Jim Moran would have to be Hollywood level to be as convincing as that. Was it truly all just smoke and mirrors or was there some truth to it?

After what feels like an age, both men walk out and you take the opportunity of Mycroft being unguarded to punch him across the face, sending him careening back into the door, clutching his cheek in abject shock.

“Seemed easy enough,” you say coldly before walking off.

Some of the rage had abated with your outburst but you still felt a little hollow and going back to meet Conrad in the parking bay you just kept repeating the last week’s scenarios over and over in your head.

“You okay?” Conrad asks, buzzing down his window.

“I just punched a senior member of government so I’m expecting to get assassinated today,” you lean against the car.

“Shit, really?” Conrad laughs. “Wish you’d filmed it. Please tell me it was Mycroft Holmes.”

“It was,” you end up smiling with him, despite the situation. “He’s just a complete arsehole.”

“I would say a robot had more emotion,” Conrad chips in. “Props to you. I’m impressed. Best get in before the boss comes out.”

“Is he really your boss?” you ask and the question seems to bewilder Conrad.

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Just something Mycroft said about this all being a lie,” you shake your head. “Questioning myself now.”

“Moriarty hired me a long time. Definitely my boss,” Conrad looks at you strangely.

So what was the truth?!

Jim Moran comes back and gallantly opens the door for you, “I’ll explain everything whilst I take you back home.”

You just silently stare at him before entering again, aggressively slamming the seat belt over you before staring straight ahead.

“Look I know this is….Conrad, can you mute us?” Jim asks.

“Sure thing boss,” Conrad’s voice comes through as he clicks something.

“It must be a shock and I’m really sorry,” Jim looks very uncomfortable. “You’re well within your rights to press charges. I just had to make it believable for Sherlock.”

“So you tried to traumatise me just for some money?” you glare at him.

“My niece,” he looks sad. “She’s got leukaemia. I’m just trying to help pay her bills. They won’t treat her on the NHS.”

Now you feel like a horrible person. Jim looks so ashamed of himself and so down that the guilt really hits you.

“I just needed the money,” he continues to explain. “They’ll treat her privately but my sister hasn’t got that kind of cash and then Mycroft appeared…..I didn’t realise it would go this far. He gave me weapons and bombs and Jesus….I was too far in over my head to get out. He started threatening to withhold the money and Amelia hasn’t got long left….shit, I’m so sorry.”

“I get it,” you pat his arm, consoling him. “Mycroft is like the highest of the high I’m guessing.”

“He’s pretty much  _the_  British Government,” Jim laughs nervously.

“Well shit, I’ll be dead by tomorrow then for giving him what he deserves,” you sigh, putting your face in your hands. “At least this nightmare would be over I guess.”

“Don’t think like that,” Jim says kindly. “He said he’ll still keep his word. Your bank account should be rolling tomorrow. In fact he was impressed you got the drop on him.”

“I swear the Holmes family is insane,” you groan. “I can’t wait to get back to my own little world.”

“Well here we are,” Jim announces as you pull up outside your place. “I’ve got some of your things in the back, I’ll take them up.”

You’re wondering exactly what items of yours he actually has but you’re so desperate to get in, you just take your house keys from his dangling fingers and flee up the stairs to your flat with him carrying a heavy bag up behind you.

Once you open the door, you’re absolutely shocked.

Everywhere is covered in petals. There’s soft candles flickering, casting a dim orange glow around the main room.

“What the….” you breathe.

Was it even possible to get purple roses?

_For fuck’s sake, pull it together. That should be the last thing on your mind._

You’re grabbed from behind and whirled into the wall as Jim’s pleasant demeanour rapidly changes.

“Did you enjoy the show, Mina?” he smirks. “Mycroft really is an odiously arrogant clot. Can’t see the wood for the trees.”

Oh god….

This was all still part of the game.

You had the inkling all along that the story didn’t marry up but now it was confirmed for you. Moriarty had managed to pull the wool over Mycroft Holmes’ eyes and now you were completely off the radar officially. Now Moriarty could do whatever he liked to you without repercussion.

“Bravo,” you raise an eyebrow. “Let me guess, you trained at RADA?”

Moriarty giggles high pitched and just strokes your side playfully, “I’ve just always been rather good at showing people what they want to see, telling people what they want to hear. People are just so easily manipulated. Even you were a little bit but I could see….I could see you didn’t fully believe it.”

“It didn’t add up,” you shake your head. “You wouldn’t keep up the ruse in the car just now with the drug and all. There would be no point.”

“Clever clever little Mina,” he murmurs. “But I did almost have you going there. Admit it.”

“Yes, yes you did. The sob story worked well,” you default to the bluntness.

Shit shit shit. You were so screwed. There was no getting out of this.

“But you were getting affectionate even before that,” he notes. “Are you starting to like me, Mina? You can tell me if you are. I’ll keep it a secret. After all….I like you, or can’t you tell? Is this not enough?”

He gestures to your flat, “I was told this is how you court women the proper way.”

“Where did you even get purple roses?” you blurt out.

_I need to get away. I need to get away now._

“I have contacts,” he adjusts his tie. “Thought it would be a nice reminder of that dress I almost had you in. God I was so fired up that night and guess what? That punch, sweetheart. Oh god, what a punch. I  _love_  that you went that place, that place of chaos. It was beautiful. You  _were_  beautiful. It was so fucking hard not to just kill Mycroft right there and take you on those tacky sofas but….you deserve more.”

He comes up close to you, reverently placing his hands on your cheeks to pull your gaze back to him.

“I knew you were special when I chose you,” he says almost lovingly and the change from his violent behaviour is spinning your head completely.

You’re so caught up in everything, the caring touch, the soft words, the glow of the candles and the scent of flowers. Hell, no boyfriend had ever even gone to this amount of effort for you.

When he lowers his head for a kiss, there’s no defiance on your part, no reticence. You accept it, meeting his movements and this time he doesn’t explode with rage. You can just feel his slight smile at your acquiescence.

“Divine,” he murmurs softly before jumping back and tap dancing on the spot. “Oh this is  _such_  a GOOD DAY. One up on Mycroft and my Mina, my pretty little anarchist, finally I have earned some affection. I could just……MURDER LONDON!”

He starts laughing, doubling over before he composes himself, “All the sexual enhancement drugs and you still didn’t break but I thought about what you said about needing chaos  _and_  order. This order is my gift to you. A normal night.”

He leads you over to your living room area and you see there’s snacks and drinks along with what look like pizza boxes.

“Sit sit,” he ushers you. “Pick a movie, eat some food. Let’s settle in darling.”

You comply but you’re greatly disturbed.

As he loops his arm around behind you on the sofa, you’re completely on edge. Was he being serious about having a ‘normal’ night, just like the two of your were some ordinary couple or was he going to attempt something sinister later on?

He chastely kisses the top of your head, “Go on, dig in. I got your favourite. I want to spoil you, Mina.”

You don’t think you liked this part of the game  _at all_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you really play at being domestic with Moriarty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Psychological torture, violence, death triggers (This chapter gets dark)
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely. Doing this on my own at 1am after a 12 hour shift is roouuugghhhhh)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> -TLP xx

Sitting there, playing house with Moriarty was the single most uncomfortable experience of your life.

You kept expecting the rage, the aggression to burst out at any moment but it never came. He was actually….pleasant. You half wondered why he wasn’t like this all the time because he’d actually be a decent man and far more your type in a natural sense.

Throughout the movie, that he ended up picking after you just sat there for ages, he would talk about your book collection, prompting theoried discussion from you. You hated yourself that you were interacting as much as you were. His mind, when he wasn’t being erratic, was actually quite beautiful in how he thought.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you Mina?” he casually strokes your hair. “Tell me why? What about a night of pure normality appeals?”

By this point you’ve had so much alcohol to try and sooth your jangled nerves that you have no filter at all.

“It appeals because it reminds me to be human. To breathe.”

“Being human is overrated,” Moriarty snorts. “Why not be so much more?”

“Well I was going to say I like you this way but fine, if you want to be an arsehole about it,” you blurt out.

“Oh!” Moriarty’s eyes widen to saucers. “This is it, isn’t it? You said you liked intelligence and your Tinder matches suggest you like bookish men. Do you…..do you fancy me right now, Mina?”

The intensity with how he’s looking at your lips, almost like a man starved, you find it doesn’t scare you any more. There’s a point where your hand involuntarily lays itself on his shoulder where you feel the muscle vibrating with anticipation.

“Go on,” he urges, mania in his eyes. “Go on, go on, go on. Admit it. Mina’s got a little crush.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, annoyed at yourself more than anything.

“Jim and Mina sitting in a tree,” he sings like a child.

“Oh it’s Jim now is it?” you raise an eyebrow. “Have we given up on the Moriarty thing?”

There’s a rumble in his chest that you can feel through your fingers. You’re pushing his buttons again and you can’t stop yourself.

“You know what saying my name like that does to me,” the glint in his eyes darkens to two lust filled pools. “I’d say you’re deliberately teasing me now. Are we playing again, Mina? Are you teasing me?”

“So what if I am?” you challenge.

There was no doubt the atmosphere between you had changed since you relented to him kissing you. You’d have to be even more bold, even more brash to stay one step ahead of him. You just got this horrible feeling that if he got what he wanted too easily then you’d be disposable and you didn’t want to find out what being disposable to Moriarty meant.

Then again…..you were acutely aware of the flush the alcohol had started in your cheeks, the heat that just spread through your body. The sexual tension between you two was becoming unbearable now.

Where once it had been a fleeting attraction, now it was deepening to something on a primal level and that scared you to death. The need that was building in not just your body but your brain.

_It’s just Stockholm Syndrome. It’s not real. You’re smarter than this. Don’t let it get to you._

“I need more, Mina. FUCK, I need more,” he growls, leaning over to you. “That kiss was just…. _come here_.”

His hand finds the back of your neck, dragging you into him. He doesn’t immediately go in for the kiss, choosing instead to trace the line of your throat with his other hand up and over the swell of your lips. He lingers there, just feeling the shape of them before tipping your chin up to almost meet his inquisitive mouth.

You don’t move forward, you just brazenly look into his eyes, eyes ablaze with deranged passion. Why wasn’t this scaring you any more? What the fuck was wrong with you?

“Let me have more of a taste,” he half begs, half demands. “I’m already addicted. Ohhhhhh it’s so much  _better_  than I thought it would be.”

“Does Moriarty have a crush?” you parrot his words back to him, eyebrow raised.

The gap is closed just as the last syllable leaves your mouth and he’s hungry for you, that’s for sure. You push him back by his shoulder sharply and he seems confused and outraged.

“Just because it happened once,” you say firmly. “What makes you think you’ve earned it again?”

That was the way to deal with him. Make him believe you were a prize. You needed to subtly put yourself above him because the second you slipped under you were nothing but prey.

“Oh God, you are so……so cruel!” he blinks before the grin overtakes his features. “I  _love_  it. Be cruel to me more, Mina!”

The change from dominance to submission really spins your head. Moriarty really got off on your violence and callous words but also loved to physically dominate you.

“I-” you start but the tension bubble breaks as the door shatters open.

You jump up, grabbing the first thing you could which turned out to be an antique candlestick. So much for style.

Several men in black overalls and ski masks flood through the remains of your door, standing in a semi circle around you and Moriarty. One steps forward and stands with his feet wide and arms folded in front before he just starts tutting loudly.

“Oh Jim…Jim Moriarty. You just had to piss off the wrong people.”

“Do you mind?” he gestures to the TV. “I was having a night in with my girlfriend and was just about to get some. Awfully rude.”

Get some?! How presumptuous of him!

_Really? That’s the first thing you pick up on rather than him calling you his girlfriend? God how far have you fallen down this rabbit hole?_

“Don’t care. Snag her too boys,” comes the slightly muffled reply.

They descended on Moriarty, stuffing a bag over his head and dragging him out before they turn on you. You manage to get a few solid hits in with the candlestick but ultimately there are too many of them to win out and you just get bundled in a big burlap sack, handled like you were merely a tote of potatoes. They weren’t gentle about it.

You cursed the day Jim Moriarty ever set foot in your office.

  
  


**

  
  


“Rise and shine!” comes a thick cockney accent as whoever it was dumps you unceremoniously out of the sack onto some cold tiled flooring.

“Where the fuck am I?” you growl, tired, sore and really really pissed.

Cruel hands grip your cheeks, squeezing them together, “You don’t get to ask questions. Now get up. Show’s about to start.”

“Show? What show?”

The backhand across your face stops any more words from coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t like dealing with Moriarty. These people didn’t respond to your crude observations. They only responded to subservience and silence.

“Get the fuck up, princess,” the guy snarls, yanking you to your feet where all the bones in your hips click back into place.

He leads you to a room that contains only a centre console, a solitary chair and something hidden behind a curtain. You could just about see the light peeking through a gap.

“Sit there.”

You oblige, too afraid to question and you’re bodily locked into the seat by a metal bar that digs into your stomach. You’re not getting out of this one.

“Now, listen to the instructions and be a good girl. If you’re not…..pretty thing like you would be such a waste.”

The guy leaves and you’re just sitting there, wondering what the hell is going on.

“Are we sitting comfortably?” a voice on a tannoy mocks. “Good. Now, the reason you’re here is purely entertainment value, duchess. You see, Moriarty’s killed a lot of my men and I figure it’s time for some payback but….knowing he’s got a side piece like you, I wanted to make this more interesting. See….I currently have a  _lot_  of people here who pissed me off and I made a little dilemma for you.”

The curtains swing open to show Moriarty stood on a thin wedge of timber, a noose around his neck and his hands tied behind his back. To the right of him was another person in the same predicament, more of your standard drug lord kind of vibe.

“In front of you are two buttons. One releases your man, the other releases Aaron Doherty, a crime lord who has a monopoly on the Thames drug trade. Now before you make the obvious choice, let me just tell you that Mr Doherty has a family who know nothing of his extra curricular activities including a four year old daughter who he dotes on and a loving wife. You’ve got one minute to decide or they both die. Oh and….cheers for making my job easier, love.”

You hear the clock start ticking and you just want to go into full meltdown mode.

They want you to actively condemn one of them to death?! What the fuck was this horror movie kind of shit?! How could you make that choice?!

“Thirty seconds,” the voice states. “I was going to put the Countdown clock music on but I thought that’s a bit overkill. Hurry up now, sweetheart.”

Shit shit shit!

_The Devil I know or the drug lord? Saving the drug lord with the family is the obvious choice but who knows what they’ll do to me once Moriarty’s out of the way. He may be insane but I know he’d protect me. Could I really leave a family without a father just for my own selfish ‘what ifs’ though?_

You look at Aaron Doherty and notice something odd. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. In fact there’s no evidence he’s ever had one on.

_Can I push the button based on that? Some people don’t wear them. FUCK!_

“Ten seconds.”

“MINA!” you hear Moriarty bellow and he looks terrified.

“FUCK!” you audibly roar before slamming the release on Moriarty’s trap.

At once something seems to slice the noose away from the anchor and Moriarty wobbles a bit before he’s able to keep his balance. The klaxon sounds and the timber that Aaron Doherty is stood on falls away, leaving him to dangle horribly, kicking desperately to try and find some purchase.

“Help him!” you motion to Moriarty.

“I can’t!” he calls back. “My hands!”

They’re tied. Of course.

So now you just turned away rather than seeing a man’s last moments. This was far too much, knowing you’d caused this and all for your selfish preservation streak.

“Down to the wire,” the tannoy voice laughs. “I thought you might actually kill your boyfriend for a second there. That would’ve been a right chuckle. Anyway, I was lying earlier. Doherty hasn’t got a family. He murdered them. Stay sat tight now. Next show will begin shortly.”

It was strange the effect those words had, knowing Doherty’s past was misrepresented to you. Some of the guilt assuaged. It really shouldn’t of though. You’d just indirectly murdered a man.

The curtain closes on Moriarty’s face and for once you think you’re seeing through the facade. That the insanity was merely just him acting out. You don’t think he really wanted to die.

It takes about fifteen minutes…possibly, you don’t have a watch at all….before the curtains open again and this time there’s Moriarty shackled at the bottom of a tank along with a woman in the opposite one.

You think you can guess what’s coming.

The water starts pouring in in torrents and throughout the roar you vaguely register Moriarty being indignant about his suit.

Maybe the facade wasn’t totally a facade then

“And next up we have Jim Moriarty versus Karen Scott. Now Karen here is a teacher at a local primary school but she fell in with a bad crowd and she’s collateral for her husband who just didn’t quite deliver on his car theft quota. Three minutes this time.”

“HELP ME!” Karen roars, struggling against the chains that lock her to the floor.

The water is already past their calves, more so in her case for being shorter. Now the choice was obvious. She wasn’t some two bit drug lord, she was just caught up in her husband’s idiot mistakes. A primary school teacher couldn’t be as bad as Moriarty right?

“Mina,” Moriarty says softly. “It’s alright. You do what you need to.”

Where was his fire? Where was his mania? He was being gallant and chivalrous and who the fuck even  _was_ this person half drowning in front of you? Not the same man who strolled into your office and casually killed your entire floor.

“Yes! Free me!” Karen says shrilly. “I didn’t have anything to do with any one! I didn’t know!”

Well that seemed unlikely. You’re sure if your husband was out stealing cars every day you would notice.

“Two minutes,” the tannoy announces.

“For fuck’s sake just let your psycho boyfriend drown and save me!” she gets irate, thrashing more, the water spraying up into her hair.

Moriarty was just doing nothing but casually waiting for the end it seemed. He was stock still, back ram rod straight trying to make himself as tall as possible so his head would be above water longer.

“One minute,” the tannoy announces. “Oh and I should mention, she got two of her pupils killed when she farmed them out to my gang for….let’s say some have interesting proclivities shall we duchess?”

“WHAT?!” you half bellow, looking at Karen who goes pale.

“No no no,” she babbles. “It’s not true! Don’t trust him!”

“Regular Rose West this one,” the man on the tannoy chuckles again. “Thirty seconds.”

The water has reached under her chin now and she’s cursing like a docker. You’re half doubting whether any of these stories are actually true but can you really afford to let someone like that go?

_What the everliving fuck is wrong with me?! I’m thinking like I have control over life and death without a goddamn care in the world._

“Ten seconds, duchess!”

You’re not sure you can replicate the sound you made as you slammed Moriarty’s release button. He just gives you a sad look, swimming nearer to the top of the tank and you shut your eyes tight, not wishing to see another death at your hands.

You just wanted to evaporate, not exist. This was torture in its most psychological form.

You’re not even concentrating, the static so loud when you feel something drip on you and you look up to see Moriarty standing there in his sodden suit.

“You saved me,” he marvels. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“How did you….” you trail off, wondering whether this nightmare was over.

“My little minxy Mina,” he grins. “You saved me  _twice_. You can’t deny you don’t have feelings for me now.”

“What?” it almost comes out as a whisper.

You felt sick. There was a reason he was standing in front of you right as rain and it just hit you. He was never in any danger. He’d _planned_  this.

“How….how could you?” you breathe. “You made me kill people!”

“So so clever!” he giggles, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Oh you got it so quickly! I love your mind! Let me keep it!”

“I KILLED PEOPLE!” you freak out, straining against the metal bar keeping you wedged into the seat.

“Oh do be quiet,” Moriarty rolls his eyes, smoothing his sopping hair back into something more manageable. “I didn’t  _actually_  put them in danger.”

“So they’re alive?”

“ENOUGH WITH THE QUESTIONS!” Moriarty snaps, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair. “Or actually…..answer mine and I’ll answer yours! Ooooo so much fun!”

He leans back, clapping his hands together quickly and balling them into fists. You just stare at him, unable to process the horrific lengths he’s just gone to.

“Answerrrrrrrr,” he drawls, twirling daintily on the spot. “Come on, Mina. You’re not being a sport now. Answer my question and I’ll answer yours. I’m being so fair right now, look at me being all fair.”

But could you bring yourself to answer? The truth was that when you were faced with a life or death situation, Moriarty’s acting had brought out your sympathetic side and you even thought he was noble at one point. If you were being brutally honest with yourself…..you didn’t want him to die. You were craving the times where he was normal, stable.

_Oh fuck, it’s true. There is an amount of feeling there. I’m such an awful person. I wish I’d been smart enough to stay with Sherlock._

“Come on, come on, come on, come onnnnnnnnnnnnn,” he croons, leaning forward and ghosting his lips across your cheek. “I’ll sweeten the deal if you like because I’m such a generous man. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel about  _you_  if you do the same  _and_  I’ll tell you about those two just now. God I’m so charitable!”

“I….” you start, not quite sure how to phrase it. “I like you when you’re ordered.”

His mouth falls open and clearly he hadn’t been expecting that, “You….you like me? You really like me? Oh my god, I’m just….excuse me a moment….oh god I might cry….you really like me!”

“If you’re just going to mock me-” you sigh heavily but he comes up so close his nose is touching yours.

“You like my order, not my chaos? Does my chaos scare you or does it excite you and  _that_  scares you?” he murmurs, studying your face.

You just bite your lip in response, not trusting yourself to spur him on.

“Ohhhhh OHHHHHHHH,  _Mina_ ,” he growls, nudging your forehead. “You like both sides but you’re just a little scaredy cat. It’s alright, you can admit it. I’m not judgemental unlike some people.”

“Sometimes,” you admit defeat, just desperate to know if you were a murderer or not at this point.

“Beautiful,” he shakes his head in reverence. “Just beautiful. Magnificent. FUCKING YES! SHE LIKES ME!”

He ends up straddling you whilst he whispers into your ear, undoing the padlock on your metal restraint, “By the way, you  _did_  actually kill them but they were revived backstage so I guess you’re sort of not a murderer? Yay?”

You think you just about lost your mind at that revelation, so pushed to the edge of your limits that you just wanted everything to stop.

When the bar was swung off, you launched forward, knocking Moriarty to the ground, punching him hard over and over and over again. You didn’t stop to think you just moved like a primal creature and all you knew was violence.

“More, more,” Moriarty’s laughing hard. “I SAID MORE!”

You can’t stop yourself, the blows are landing thick and fast and pretty soon he has blood spilling from his lips and a cut along his perfect eyebrow. Still you keep going until he seems to tire of your outburst and grabs your wrists harshly, sitting up so you’re face to face again.

“I promised you an answer little Mina,” he husks, the voice tainted with lust and pain. “So here it is. I hate feelings. I hate tradition. I hate romance. It won’t do at all. So you understand how confused I am that I started  _having_  feelings, that I  _want_  to woo you. God Mina, your darkness, your chaotic beauty, your empathetic mind……I  _love_  it!”

“NO, SAY IT!” you bellow, twisting out of his grip and grabbing his lapels before slamming him down on the floor again. “YOU PUT ME THROUGH THIS SHIT SO HAVE THE DECENCY TO SAY IT, YOU DISRESPECTFUL INSANE FUCK!”

The growl he makes is so heavy with arousal but it doesn’t catch you off guard this time. You know he gets off on you insulting him.

“You are  _perfection_ ,” his eyes are blown wide.

“SAY IT!” you scream, backhanding him.

Was any of this worth it if he didn’t? All the trauma, all the psychological scarring, all the manipulation? It had to come from somewhere. There had to be a motivation and you think the motivation is…..he’s starting to fall for you. Maybe he even loves you in his own twisted way.

“Oh my pretty little darling Mina,” he sighs contentedly, rolling his groin slightly against yours and you can feel how rock hard he is. “That’s not the rules of the game.”

“Fuck the game,” you snarl.

“If you want the game to end you know what to do,” he raises his bloodied eyebrow, an expression of pure mirth. “Give yourself to me. Say I win.”

“No,” you grab him by the throat. “No because I’m going to make you say it and you  _will_  lose.”

“Give it your best shot, sweetheart.”

And you dove on him in a flurry of angry, violent kisses.

_You won’t win. You won’t break me. I’ll break_ you _._

“You are  _stunning_  in rage. Oh my sweet, Mina.  _Moreeeeeee_.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes of the Game raise even higher when Moriarty takes you on a little trip of a London landmark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Abusive Behaviour
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> (Appropriate music is located in the first set of asterisks for the scene)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

The fight for dominance was brutal.

You and Moriarty were practically clawing at each other, the tension bubble finally snapping. You wanted to make him suffer, to make him squirm. Nothing would give you more delight than that right now for what he put you through.

“Oh fuck….Mina,” he groans as you yank his head back by his perfectly coiffed hair, rumpling it.

There was a moment where your teeth were raking along his neck until you got to his throat and stopped. He was audibly shivering. Shivering with fear or excitement? You didn’t know.

There was something deeply deeply primal about just holding someone’s life in your teeth like this. At any moment you could bite down and end his life, just rip away the flesh like an animal. Maybe you wanted to do it too. Maybe you wanted to stop this game in a more permanent way.

“Kill me if you want to,” he grins. “You’re thinking about it. I can tell. Go oooooon, tear my windpipe out, savage an artery. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Too easy,” you pull back after nipping at the skin a little and making him gasp. “A bastard like you needs a slow and painful death.”

“Ooo you’ve thought about it,” he chuckles. “Foreward planning. I like that in a woman. So what now, little Mina? Hmmm? Dared to go as far as you can?”

“Not even close,” you pin him to the floor.

You feel like he doesn’t put up much of a struggle as you straddle him in just a way that your pelvis rocks against his. The growl in his chest is loud and possessive.

_Let’s start with this fucking suit, since you love it so much._

The indignant shrill shriek he made when you wrenched his shirt to pieces was oh so satisfying. He looked genuinely affronted.

“EXCUSE ME?!” his voice went two octaves higher. “What on earth are you doing?! How many suits do I have to get through, Mina? How many are you going to destroy? How…….oh fuuuuuuuuck, don’t stop that, pleaaaaaaasssse….”

Your mouth was trailing along the firmness of his chest, lapping and biting your patterns into his flesh. You were making it clear that you were in charge and once you’d skated down near his stomach, he was almost writhing in anticipation. Still you kept a grip of his wrists, keeping him still.

“Just a little bit further south, sweetheart,” he almost purrs, your lips so close to the waistband of his trousers.

You respond by biting at him harshly, causing him to jerk up and you hear the longest groan escape from his mouth. You don’t let up until you can taste that coppery tang of blood.

It was liberating in a way. Knowing you could actually hurt him, knowing he was just a human after all. Were you actually enjoying causing him harm?

When you thought about it, moving up to see the pure lust in his eyes, you were getting off on hurting him, putting him in his place. It made you feel both simultaneously disgusted with yourself and curious.

“I see it,” he props himself up on his elbows, looking intensely at your expression. “There she isssss. Hello! It’s the real you, isn’t it? The Mina that lurks underneath that prissy exterior. The one that loves the violence she inflicts, the one that’s just  _b-e-a-utiful_  in anger. I’m so happy I could make you flourish. Oh my sweet little radiant queen…..look at the damage you’ve done. It’s a fucking work of art.”

You look at his torso and the litany of bruises, teeth imprints and the obvious bleeding mark on his stomach. It made a very stark contrast to his pale skin and in truth….it was quite fascinating to look at.

He suddenly sits up, winding his arms around your waist and pressing his face in between your breasts, sighing and moaning heavily.

“This is heaven…..I am your Jesus Christ to do with as you will,” he chuckles to himself.

“Think you’re my fucking saviour do you?” you find your voice.

“Well look at you,” he smirks. “You’ve blossomed. You’ve become so much more than the accountant with the mediocre middle class life. You feel things now.”

And you  _did_  feel things. You felt the crushing weight of your residual anger, the heavy throb of your own passion, the enormous guilt of leaving your morals at the door, the pure excitement of running on adrenalin all the time. It was overwhelming but fuck…

You felt alive.

You felt purposeful.

“Now you feel what I feel,” Moriarty says knowingly. “And isn’t it just…. _liberating_. All the little morons with their white collar lives, just soooooo dull. You’re not dull Mina, you never were. I could see the fire in you in that office, almost dim, so sooooo dim. Nearly out. Your life was killing you.”

“It was a good life,” you snarl back, your hands resting around his throat in just a way that you could easily apply more pressure and choke the life out of him.

“It was a  _shit_  life,” he hisses. “My little Mina, all alone, so directionless, just waiting for that next holiday….that next weekend…..god what a meaningless existence!”

“And you don’t have that?”

“I dance to my own music. I have very good taste in it and look at me.”

“You’re a depressed psychopath, that’s obviously  _so_ much better than being an officer worker,” you spit, taking his bait hook line and sinker.

His hand quickly shoots up, knotting in your hair to pull your head down as he whispers in your ear, “At least I feel, sweetheart. At least I see life in more than shades of brown and grey. Wake up, Mina….WAKE UP!”

The shouting being so close to your ear startles you and you lash out at him, catching him with your nails and leaving perfect ragged marks across his jaw. He looks surprised for a second before he flips you under him, jamming your wrists down and biting harshly at your bottom lip.

“Gooooood. You’re waking up but….you  _ever_  fucking do that again and I will-”

“You’ll what?” you challenge.

His eyes go wide before he starts chuckling in a low rumble, “I’ll fuck you in front of your precious Sherlock and John. Don’t say you wouldn’t like it, Mina. I heard the little gasp you just did. God to see the look on Sherlock’s face…..his precious little protégé yearning me for, yearning to show her true self. Oh don’t give me that look, you and I both know what he was doing. Don’t insult your own intelligence.”

“I don’t want to be a sidekick detective,” you huff, not bothering any more to squirm in his grip.

“You wouldn’t  _be_  a sidekick with me, Mina,” he nudges your nose. “You’d be my equal, you’d be my Queen of Chaos…..and….I know the  _perfect_ thing for you.”

He suddenly jumps up, pulling you up with him before he shouts up to a speaker, “Conrad, set plan Q into motion.”

“Sure thing boss,” comes the reply.

You realise then that Conrad had been the voice goading you with Moriarty’s fake life or death game, albeit with a dodgy accent. You were disappointed in him that he’d go so far with it.

Then you also realised that Conrad probably watched everything you just did and that just makes you horribly embarrassed.

“Oh don’t worry about him,” Moriarty notes your red face. “He won’t tell anyone. He knows I’d bash his pretty little head in if he tried. Time to go, Mina. I’ve got something to show you.”

  
  


[**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D7Cd4hXcgG4c&t=NzhhODljNDM5OGE5NGMzYmI0MDExNWJmZWU0MGE2N2VkNmU1ZDdiNywzd3NyQldKTw%3D%3D&b=t%3AqOvnaaDd_SfVYQ8UVUnylw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftheliveshipparagon.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F179495859520%2Fthe-great-game-chapter-11-sherlock-fic&m=1)

  
  


You were with the world’s most wanted criminal in the Tower of London.

Seeing Moriarty in casual jeans and a hoody was very off putting, almost like he could be a regular person. He insisted you wear something equally as common so here you were in some awful green parka, ripped jeans and Ugg boots. You felt like the very epitome of ‘average British young woman’.

“The second this is done I’m dressing you in something more befitting,” he wrinkles his nose at your clothing.

He pulls you into a room and you just about stagger to see the actual Crown Jewels ahead of you. You just get the worst sinking feeling.

“No,” you end up muttering.

“Oh you don’t like them?” he quirks up an eyebrow. “I can take us to Russia for their royal jewels if you like? Bit more grandiose.”

“You can’t just-” you’re about to blurt out but he grabs your arm and yanks you into his chest before kissing you deeply to shut you up.

“Our little secret, Mina,” he hushes in a sing song voice.

You’re kept there as people slowly milled out and only one guard was left in the end with you.

“Did you bring what I asked for?” Moriarty asks casually to the man.

“Yes,” he nods before pulling items out from behind curtains.

He assembles what looks like an easel before a canvas was placed over and you’re actually wondering what the fuck is going on.

In the mean time, Moriarty breaks the glass display, kicking shards away before seeming to set up the throne that was there. Curiously no alarm goes off.

“What?” you ask. “What’s happening?”

“Come here,” Moriarty beckons.

You don’t know what else to do so you just roll with it.

Moriarty positions you in front of him, grabbing the ceremonial cloak before asking you to hold it behind you. He brings out a knife and you’re afraid again as he hooks it into your clothing, ripping the garish fabric away until you’re almost naked in front of him, your pants the only thing keeping you from being completely bare.

“This isn’t a sexual thing before you say,” he notes before doing the same to his own clothing. “This is a liberating thing.”

With both of you only in the tiniest amount of clothes, he whirls you to sit next to him on the throne, legs crooked over his lap and over the edge of the arm rests. The cloak is draped artfully over the two of you, preserving your modesty from the faux guard.

“Now paint,” Moriarty instructs the guy.

“Are you fucking serious?!” you blink. “You broke into here to have a  _painting_  of us done?!”

“Oh yes,” he grins. “An oil painting. I want it in my house….over the mantle I think. I want you to see yourself as I see you. That’s all.”

You feel the truth of that somehow. I mean you’re almost practically on his lap wearing nothing but he’s not getting sexual enjoyment out of it. Does he think this is a bonding experience? Does he think this is a  _romantic_  experience?!

After about two hours of sitting in the same position, being made to stare at Moriarty’s face for that long, you’re half wondering if he’s using that old psychology trick where you maintain long eye contact to feel connections with people.

Or maybe he  _is_ just that insane that he’d borrow the Crown Jewels to look good for a portrait.

The Armills were weighing quite heavily on your wrists after so long and you wondered how the Queen could’ve even standed to have all of these things on her at one time. Of course, Moriarty was wearing the crown but you had the Great Sword of State dangling from one hand.

After  _five_ hours, you’re wondering how the hell no one has managed to find out you’re here.

“Why are we not being arrested by the way?” you ask, fidgeting slightly.

“Oh I have a sign outside saying the jewels are being restored and the CCTV is on a loop,” Moriarty shrugs casually. “I cut the power to the alarms earlier. Simple really. Though I reckon it won’t fool them for too much longer.”

He straightens his back quickly and you hear the audible pops. He’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“How is it going?” he asks the painter, almost conversationally.

“Pretty much done,” the painter muses, almost putting the brush in his mouth as he looks over his work. “I’ll have it stored to air dry and send it to you by tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” Moriarty muses. “So let us see then.”

The easel is turned and brought closer to you. You lean up, grasping the cloak to your naked chest as you look.

Well fucking hell…

You’ve never seen yourself looking so…..majestic. It’s almost like a pre-Raphaelite painting in how fantastical it seems. Moriarty looks every inch the regal King holding the Sovereign’s Orb and you….you seem like a warrior Queen, ready for battle.

What scares you the most is….both of you are looking at each other on the throne and whilst the expression is powerful….it looks like you’re long term lovers.

You wonder if he was told to paint it that way or whether you were _actually_ both looking at each other in that way.

“Oh GLORIOUS!” Moriarty shouts in glee, the sound bouncing around the room. “Do you see Mina? Do you see? See how radiant you are. Oh you are just….. _perfect_. My queen of chaos, my love. I-”

He almost said it.

You almost won the game.

You never got to hear the end of the sentence though because there was an almighty thud at the door and the sound of an armed response unit milling into place.

“I’d best scram if I were you,” Moriarty says to the painter who hurriedly scarpers with the canvas and tools out of the window.

“And us?” your heart starts beating a million miles an hour.

“Oh we can wait this one out,” Moriarty grins. “I’ll keep your little secret safe, your secret that you actually like me.”

By the time the unit bursts through the door, Mycroft, Sherlock and John just behind them, Moriarty has the sword to your throat, laughing endlessly.

“Hello again,” he coos to Sherlock in particular.

“You let her go!” John shouts. “What the hell have you done to her?!”

“Oh I hadn’t gotten to the good part yet,” he purrs, licking your cheek. “She always did keep me wanting. Mycroft, I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out. Very  _very_  disappointing. Of course, I expected this level of fuck up from  _you_ Sherlock.”

“It’s over, Moriarty,” Sherlock seems agitated. “Drop the sword and let Mina go.”

“Oh but if I let her go then you boys will see  _everything_ ,” he giggles. “I mean, I may be cruel but I’m not a monster!”

“Enough of this,” Mycroft sighs, rubbing his temples. “Apprehend Moriarty. Try and keep the girl relatively clothed as you do so.”

Being surrounded by a group of armed police was fucking terrifying. You felt like a small little girl as you were manhandled away from Moriarty, wrapped up in the cloak for your own modesty.

Moriarty got no such treatment, as he was roughly pulled off the throne before being handcuffed. He seemed to be enjoying the entire thing in a perverse kind of way.

John’s arms are encircling you before you know what’s happening but Sherlock keeps a distance, eyeing you with an air of suspicion and dismay. It was clear he sensed exactly how culpable you were in this scenario and he was sad about it.

“Get off her soldier,” Moriarty’s voice changes from mirth to raging jealousy.

It surprises you and it surprises John who jerks away. You can see in Moriarty’s face he is seething.

“Come now, Mina, you’re safe.”

Now  _Sherlock_  was holding you. You didn’t get the sense this was for comfort, however. You were just a variable in his experiment to see Moriarty’s reaction.

“He can’t hurt you any more,” Sherlock continues, his hand very clearly trailing up and down your back as he rests his chin on your head, kissing your hair softly.

“GET AWAY FROM MY GIRL!” Moriarty writhes against his handcuffs and the men holding him. “You’re not worthy of her! You’re an idiotic buffoon! SHE’S MINE!”

“Not quite yet she isn’t,” Sherlock notes in a dangerously challenging tone. “And don’t you forget it, Jim.”

“Take him away,” Mycroft waves his hand. “This incessant soap opera blithering is frightfully tedious.”

“Only because you’re not getting any, Mycroft,” Moriarty laughs loudly. “And no, Sherlock, she’s not  _quite_  mine but she’s very close. I plan to change that very soon. See you around, Mina….my little chaos queen. Such cute nicknames I give you. I’m so quirky like that.”

“Get him out!” Mycroft bellows.

Once Moriarty is out of sight, you feel hollow. It’s almost like your world is dulling around you. This was back to reality now. Now you felt uncomfortable and ashamed.

“My god, are you alright?” John asks, checking you over and noting the bruises on your body. “He didn’t….he didn’t….”

“He didn’t,” Sherlock says for you. “Mina, you and I need to talk. Now.”

“Fucking hell, Sherlock, can you not just give the poor girl a breather?!” John cries. “This is the second time she’s been kidnapped by that monster and it’s  _our_  fault.”

“It’s not my fault,” Sherlock bristles. “Molly should’ve checked the freezer unit. It was her error.”

“Oh do take some responsibility, Sherlock,” Mycroft groans. “She disappeared under your watch.”

“Yeah and while we’re at it,” John rounds on Mycroft. “You let Moriarty walk out with her straight after.”

“Yes well,” Mycroft adjusts his tie awkwardly. “Even the best of us make mistakes.”

“Can someone just find me some clothes please?” you say, almost pathetically. “I don’t care whose responsibility it is. I just want to be clothed.”

“Sure, sorry,” John shakes his head. “I’ll look now.”

He leaves outside, searching for the Tower guard and Mycroft saunters forward, righting the Crown Jewels display and replacing the items back into their original stands.

“He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?” Sherlock whispers softly next to you. “I can see you’re different. You were confident with him and with me you’re back to being scared.”

“It’s hard to explain,” you try weakly.

“Mina, I can’t help you if you’re letting him in,” Sherlock says earnestly, grabbing the side of your face. “Moriarty is poison. You’re losing your rationalities and your sensibilities.”

“I know,” you say blankly. “I just….I want to be away from people. I’m sick of being everyone’s emotional toy to throw around and destroy.”

Sherlock softens a little at that, “You won’t be destroyed. You’re more fortitudinal than you realise. I told you in the mortuary you had a brilliant mind-”

“I don’t think you did actually-” you cut in.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sherlock continues. “There’s going to be a trial, a trial to put Moriarty away for good. You need to be strong and you need to testify because that is the  _only_  way he will be out of your life for good.”

“That’s not the only way,” you shake your head.

“You’re insinuating killing him. Oh, Mina. He really  _has_  gotten in your mind. We need to do this the right way.”

“So he can keep coming after me?” you throw your hands up. “I can’t. I can’t do this Sherlock. I just want to disappear.”

“Mina, please,” Sherlock begs, his eyes wide.

You understand that he’s as afraid of Moriarty as you are. That’s why he so desperately wants to see him locked up.

“It scares you how much he brings you to life, right?” you guess. “Like he’s the only one who’s on your level, can understand?”

Sherlock blusters entirely, pulling away from you and staring like you’d turned green.

“It’s the same for me too,” you say gently.

At the end of it all, you and Sherlock were more alike than you wanted to admit. Arguably you had better social skills though.

Moriarty had ruined you both, his influence in your lives pushing you beyond the comfort of your daily routine and into something more, something interesting, despite how horrific the situation had become.

“Then if you understand, help me,” Sherlock implores you.

Clad in only the Queen’s ceremonial robes, you extended your hand for Sherlock to shake. He took it gladly before John interrupted, carrying fresh clothes.

Immediately you bolted to the nearest bathroom, under an escort of ARV officers. Once there, you changed but just braced your hands on the side of the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror rather than immediately exiting.

You’d never actually spoken words of agreement to Sherlock.

That was because you knew….you knew that you didn’t truly want Moriarty out of your life. If you’d spoken, you’d of given it away instantly.

You weren’t so sure you were winning the game anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trial of James Moriarty commences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, Sherlock being very inappropriate
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> A/N: Okay, first off thank you so much for waiting and being patient. I know this near two month wait has been quite horrid and I’m sorry to say the original plan has still not happened. There was meant to be artwork of the oil painting from the last chapter to showcase in this trial, however, I’ve not had a personal message from the artist since before Christmas and they’re MIA since the 4th Jan dealing with personal issues I believe. Rather than make anyone wait any longer, I’ve made the decision just to go ahead and publish because I have no idea when the artwork will be sent to me now. It’s disappointing but that’s how life goes sometimes.   
> I hope this has been worth the wait and again, many thanks to everyone who’s been so lovely about it all.

You’d never had so many cups of tea in your life.

Mrs Hudson didn’t seem to know what else to do other than constantly dote on you. You hadn’t realised how starving you’d been until she presented some Madeira cake to you and you ended up eating the whole loaf. After that she’d taken to feeding you regularly.

“You need to get your strength up, dearie,” she coos at you whilst pouring another mugful of tea. “That awful man. God I can only think what he did. You’re so brave to testify.”

“I don’t feel brave,” you admit. “I feel numb.”

“Happens to the best of us,” she nods wisely. “I remember going through the courts with my husband. Frightful business but the biscuits were wonderful.”

You end up laughing a little and she smiles warmly at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “Oh there we go. You look good with a smile, Mina. Well done you.”

The curt slam of a bedroom door jerks you both out of your little moment as both of your faces fall. You know Sherlock is awake and coming in soon.

For the past week whilst the trial has been being prepped for Moriarty, Sherlock has been incredibly antagonistic to you again, a complete U-turn on his begging in the Tower of London. In fact, most of the time he just sits in that dilapidated arm chair and stares at you. He stares at you no matter if you’re browsing the internet, if you’re eating a meal, if you’re reading a book.

221B Baker Street had become like an interrogation room for you.

That’s why you tried to hide out at Mrs Hudson’s as much as you could. John’s presence made it bearable and you could just ignore Sherlock then but John still had a day job.

“Mina,” comes the authoritative bark from upstairs.

“You’d better go, lovie,” Mrs Hudson looks perturbed as she stares at the ceiling. “You know what he gets like. I can’t have more bullet holes in my walls, the insurance is astronomical as it is.”

“London prices, right?” you muse. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Any time, Mina,” she takes your hand and squeezes it. “Same time tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you give her a quick smile before walking back upstairs.

Sherlock is still dressed in his robe, dully fixated on the mantlepiece with the piles of letters that have been stabbed into place. He said nothing to you as you entered and sat down opposite, carefully smoothing out your skirt.

If he was going to continue to be arsey with you, you’d be arsey back. You lock eyes with him, daring him to say something, anything.

After what felt like hours but was only actually fifteen minutes, he seemed to break, flustering and staring into the empty grate of the fireplace.

“Yes, very good. Full marks for using my tactics against me,” he spits bitterly.

“Oh, it speaks,” you say sarcastically. “Maybe you should’ve just talked to me a week ago rather than use this idiotic staring campaign.”

“Would you have talked to me frankly and honestly?” Sherlock still refuses to look at you.

“Yes,” you answer truthfully. “But you just assume the worst of people.”

“And Moriarty assumes the best?” comes the cold reply.

“What is your problem?!” you end up shouting. “Just say what you mean and stop dancing around the fucking subject!”

“Swearing, indicates lack of control on anger. Lack of control makes for a more honest recount. You’re ready to talk now.”

“I swear, Sherlock, your mind games are worse than his,” you snarl. “You don’t think I’ve had enough of that? People trying to manipulate me?”

He coughs to hide his embarrassment but you see the sting has landed. He’s obviously deeply hurt that you’ve compared him to Moriarty again.

“Mina,” he starts but seems to lose his thread. “I’m not good with this. I may be brilliant in many other areas but compassion and sympathy are as foreign to me as dynamical systems is to you.”

“Sherlock, I’m a bloody accountant!” you slam your fists on the side of the chair. “Stop talking to me like I’m some simpleton!”

When he suddenly jumps up and leans over you, you end up squeaking in surprise, grabbing him by the lapels of his bathrobe to keep him away but his hands grip yours as he holds your gaze, an almost demented expression on his face.

“Because  _he_  never does, does he? He celebrates your mind, he asks your opinions, he values your input, he  _acts_  on your input. Moriarty is completely obsessed with you-”

“And you’re aggrieved,” you read his expression. “He was concentrating on you, challenging you and suddenly his attention has gone elsewhere and you  _miss it_.”

“Yes,” comes the breathless answer. “Do you know how dull it is to work with such unextraordinary thinkers? To have no intellectual equal other than a, frankly odious, brother? So I question what makes you special. Is it that you’re a woman? No, that’s far too obvious. What is it about  _you_ , Mina that he can’t stay away from?”

“And here’s the crux,” you stand up yourself, tired of Sherlock trying to use his sheer height to intimidate you. “You. Could. Have. Asked. What is it about you that you always have to take the hardest road to solve everything? The answer can be simple.”

“Then what?” Sherlock almost whispers.

“Every time I have been in Moriarty’s presence, he pushes me to lose my inhibitions. He pushes me to act on my first instinct and to advise him how to bring order to his chaos. He tells me he loves my rage, he loves my passion and how I simplify his world without being dumb about it. He tells me I am the only one to see him for what he is. Bored and depressed. Well guess what, Sherlock Holmes? I see through you too. You’re bored as well and you’re acting out because of it. You crave danger and the notion to be the smartest person in the room whilst pretending you don’t feel anything. You feel _everything_.”

The gasp that falls from his mouth isn’t what you expect. Sherlock looks at you like you’ve just bared his soul for him.

“Out,” he points a shaking finger towards the door. “Get out. OUT!”

“Can’t handle your own truth,” you laugh bitterly. “Typical. I’m gone. See you at the trial.”

You walk to the door with purpose, yanking it open to see Mrs Hudson quickly disappear from the bottom of the stairs where she’d been eavesdropping.

“John was right,” you hear Sherlock muttering to himself as you start descending the stairs. “I am a complete bastard.”

“And don’t you forget it!” you yell spitefully behind you as you walk out into the street, not giving two shits whether Moriarty’s team pick you back up again.

For the first time in ages, you could just breathe.

“Trouble?” comes the beleaguered voice of John Watson.

“Don’t you have work?” you ask.

“Forgot my swipe card,” he laughs awkwardly. “Kind of need one to get into the building. I see argument number fifty happened.”

“I can’t stand him,” you admit. “He has these rare moments of being human but the rest of the time-”

“It’s like dealing with a robot, I know,” John sighs. “Look, how about I call in sick today and we can just defuse in a café somewhere, eh?”

“I’d like that,” you say earnestly. “Although for god’s sake no more tea please.”

“How does early morning cocktails sound then?” John smiles knowingly. “I mean, I don’t mean to sound unmacho or anything but I am partial to a Cosmopolitan now and then.”

“I would’ve had you done for more of a Mojito guy,” you say slyly.

“Come on, Mina,” he offers his arm to you. “Let’s have a very good trash talking session. It’s good to let it out. Last thing we need is to turn on each other before this trial.”

“I’d be fine if Sherlock wasn’t trying to play mind games with me,” you walk with him. “I’m not an experiment or a study. He asked me to help put away Moriarty but now he seems to be resenting me for having Moriarty’s attention in the first place. I’m so confused.”

“And that is why we need alcohol. Doctor’s orders,” John winks as he leads you to a bar hidden underground.

  
  


**

“Yes he’s a total prick,” John laughs after his third cocktail.

He kept deliberately choosing outrageously coloured ones trying to make you laugh and it was working. John Watson was definitely a miracle worker to calm you down so much.

“So why do you stay?” you ask, twirling the tiny umbrella.

“Because he needs me,” John answers simply, sighing. “Because he’s a complete wreck and needs direction. I…complete him I guess. I may not be as clever but I steer him onto the correct path and he’s grown since I’ve lived at Baker Street…well I think anyway.”

“You mean he was worse?!” you widen your eyes.

John just bursts out into laughter, “God you really don’t want to know. Someday I may even make the tin man have a heart. Watch this space.”

“Good luck Dorothy,” you snort, taking a deep gulp. “I guess the best thing for Sherlock is for Moriarty to be out of his life.”

“I think that’s better for everyone,” John points out. “Maybe you could join us when all this is done? If accountancy is too boring now, that is.”

“Work with you, yes. Work with Sherlock? Not in a million years,” you shake your head. “I’d end up strangling him.”

“I feel that way sometimes,” John smiles. “But we do good and that’s what I tell myself.”

You mulled it over for a while. In truth, when John suggested about not going back to your old job, your immediate thoughts did not go to working with him and Sherlock. To your dismay, your first thought was that if Sherlock needed Moriarty to be out of the way, you could distract him by being in his path for the foreseeable future.

But why were you thinking that?

Did you really want to condemn yourself to a short life of danger and criminality? Was it worth being the sacrificial lamb to keep Moriarty’s attention away from the British public?

It had been a week and you hated that you missed him. He had really gotten into your head in a bad way. Every time you heard a car door outside Baker Street you were wondering if he was going to show, wondering if he’d take you away again. You felt like you craved it….

“Earth to Mina?” John waves his hand in front of your face.

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This trial really has me thinking. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s not so bad,” John reassures you. “Just…tell the truth. Greg and I will be there for you.”

You note he made no mention of Sherlock being there for you but did you really expect anything different? You knew implicitly that John had your back, that he understood the trauma you’d been through.

You’d even confided in him late one night about the little murder show trial Moriarty had staged to try and ascertain your feelings. He’d listened with abject horror and offered you total sympathy and ways to help you heal.

Sherlock did not deserve John Watson.

“We’d best get back,” he nudges you. “Imagine the grief we’ll get if he finds out we’ve been having fun for once.”

“God forbid,” you laugh. “Although I’m bad at covering up when I’m tipsy.”

“Just follow my lead,” he winks sloppily before getting up and promptly walking sideways rather than forward. “No that’s not right….hang on….”

It took you an hour to do a ten minute walk back.

  
  


**  
  
  


“Get up, get up!” Sherlock ripped the covers off of you, making you jump up in anger.

“What the fuck?!” you yell.

“Trial day,” is all he says before going to the kitchen and eating some suspect takeaway that John had left in the container last night.

“Could you not have just woken me gently like a sane person?” you grumble.

“This guarantees you’re awake,” he shrugs.

John comes stumbling out, bleary eyed, “Oh good god, Sherlock. She needs to be mentally ready for today, not on edge.”

“Moriarty won’t allow her the same courtesy,” Sherlock shrugs. “He’ll be trying to get her to his side.”

“Why can’t you just trust that I’ll tell the truth?” you interject.

Sherlock just grabs your arm, yanking you behind him as you enter his room and he locks the door behind him, preventing John from acting as your support buffer.

Jesus Christ, his room was a mess.

The duvet was strewn half on the floor, clothes littered the carpet and there appeared to be chemical burn holes in them as well. You had no idea how he could live like this.

You didn’t get long to ponder it as he pushed you against the wall, using his body to keep you still. What you didn’t expect was him to slide his hand gently along your jawline, looking intently into your eyes as a long term partner would.

“What are you doing?” you ask, completely off guard.

Your heart may have skipped a beat when he exhibited the same dominance as Moriarty would, holding your gaze and pressing himself against you as he lowered his head.

Was he really going to….

You felt yourself respond on instinct, tipping your head back slightly and the gasp was left on your lips.

“Interesting,” Sherlock notes when he’s mere centimetres away. “So behaviour like his does still elicit a response. This is why I’m concerned about today. What happens when he’s sitting across a courtroom from you? Will you switch sides?”

“Did you seriously just attempt to kiss me for an experiment?” you growl.

“Would you prefer I actually kissed you?” he raises a mirthful eyebrow. “I thought I was a ‘bastard’.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Now that sort of business is unnecessary. Please think with your brain, Mina,” he rolls his eyes. “And yes, I use what I have to determine possible outcomes. You responded and that does not bode well.”

“I could respond by punching you in the face. How’s that for a response? Does that fit your test parameters?”

“Violence too. It’s worse than I thought,” he muses to himself. “How far does his influence reach, I wonder….”

Then he actually kissed you, a lot more rough than you would’ve expected. Obviously he was trying to emulate Moriarty but it didn’t have the same passion or intonation behind it. It was just…

You shoved him away immediately, “STOP THAT! I’m not your fucking lab rat and I’m not a child you have to coach through saying their P’s and Q’s. I will testify at this godforsaken trial and I will put away James Moriarty and then I will get far away from you and if you ever darken my door again it will be too soon.”

“Right,” he straightens up, adjusting his robe. “Much better. I trust you.”

“You have a funny definition of trust,” you scowl. “Now let me out.”

“Of course,” his demeanour switches back to the Sherlock at the Tower.

Fuck, it was giving you whiplash with his constant mood swings.

You stormed out of the room straight into John who just seemed bewildered.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Ask him, he’s the one that kissed me to confirm a theory,” you spit before aggressively making yourself some toast.

“You….what?…..Sherlock! You can’t just sexually assault people for your own experiments!” John shouts.

“Don’t be so Draconian, John,” Sherlock sighs. “She’s more than capable of defending herself. I was merely checking she was on our side still.”

“And you can’t just trust that she is?” John clenches his jaw. “Don’t stoop to Moriarty’s level. This is what he wants, to create mistrust and to isolate you.”

Sherlock makes like he wants to speak but he shuts up. He knows John is right. You can see the dynamic between the two working right in front of you. John really is Sherlock’s heart and conscience.

“I’m…..I’m sorry, Mina,” Sherlock says sincerely to you. “This whole thing….”

“You’re on edge and taking it out on me. I know,” you nod. “Now stop being a colossal arsehole and let’s do this trial properly.”

“I wouldn’t say 'colossal’,” Sherlock mumbles but you don’t beleaguer the point.

“Now we’re all friends again, let’s get dressed and go,” John shepherds you both like a weary parent.

For once, all of you were in agreement.

“And for God’s sake, Sherlock, try not to be clever.”

  
  


**

You sat there with John holding your leg steady as you bounced it up and down nervously.

“Crown versus Moriarty, trial will proceed,” comes the announcement.

He’s brought in, perfect suit, perfect swagger as he saunters into the box, casually chewing gum. Did your heart rate just pick up? You thought it did. It picked up even more when he caught your gaze and winked at you, blowing a bubble and popping it loudly and obnoxiously.

“Easy, Mina,” John whispers, patting your shoulder.

You could see the barely concealed scowl on Moriarty’s pristine face as he tutted openly at you, wagging his fingers in the handcuffs before pointing to you and mouthing 'mine’….or maybe it was 'Mina’….you didn’t quite get it from where you were sat.

“Don’t let him get to you,” John keeps talking, watching the exchange.

When Moriarty made a very obscene tongue gesture at you, you felt yourself blush. How quickly he got under your skin again.

“Surely they can’t allow him to do that,” John wrinkles his face in disgust.

But they did. They allowed him to make all manner of much more subtle gestures because Sherlock drew all the attention with his postulating.

It was embarrassing how much Sherlock railroaded the trial with his own self importance, making a mockery of the lawyers and the entire process. You felt yourself cringing and almost trying to hide in your suit as he went on and on about how clever he was and how stupid everyone else seemed. Moriarty didn’t have to say a single word in his defence. Sherlock was making him look sane by comparison.

The whole circus act ended with Sherlock being thrown out as the star witness.

“Oh god, oh god,” John kept muttering, watching everything burn to ash around him. “This is excruciating. I told him not to get smart with it.”

“Sherlock never listens,” you shake your head. “He’s playing straight into Moriarty’s hands. I can see it.”

“You think he wanted Sherlock to show himself up?” John whispers.

“Most definitely because now everything is riding on me,” you trail off.

“You can do this, Mina,” John assures you. “I know you can.”

“The stand calls Wilhelmina Pevensey,” the announcement rings out.

You hear a snort and turn to see Moriarty mouthing 'Pevensey’ with a barely concealed mocking grin. This was the point where you hated how stuffy and traditional your estranged parents were. You were almost humiliated….at least he made you feel that way.

When you get into the witness box, the defence walks you through it and you recount as much of your experience as you’re comfortable telling in front of complete strangers. You keep your eyes fixated on John because he gives you the strength to keep going. You never let your gaze stray to Moriarty at all….if you did, you’re not sure you’d keep your nerve.

You’re not sure why the defence lawyer was being so encouraging in having you tell the story, warts and all. Surely this wasn’t helping Moriarty in the slightest? What was going on?

Your last nerve crumbles, however, when the prosecution starts.

“We have evidence to discredit this witness and call into question the nature of the things spoken here today,” the lawyer looks over their glasses.

“On what grounds?” the judge asks.

“On the grounds that she’s compromised. Wilhelmina Pevensey has a romantic entanglement with the defendant.”

“Present your findings for the court.”

The second you see someone carrying a large square object covered by a sheet your blood runs cold. You feel like you’ve literally frozen in place.

You know what that is.

You can see the tiny smirk Moriarty gives as the object is placed on a stand before the cover is whipped off, showcasing to the entire jury and congregation your oil painting that Moriarty had done in the Tower. You can hear the collective gasp and John just hangs his head in defeat.

“As you can see, Miss Pevensey admits an emotional attachment and that is made quite evident here, immortalised in this artwork. Is this not the look of a lover?”

“Objection, leading statement!” the defence surprisingly calls.

“Not sustained,” the judge shakes his head. “Miss Pevensey, please state the nature of your relationship with the defendant.”

“Hostage,” comes the first thing out of your mouth.

“Are you quite sure about that fact?” the prosecution tuts before producing a DVD disk. “Now this, this is footage from the Burning Sky restaurant. I present this as further evidence that this witness cannot be trusted to tell the truth.”

“Wait, what?” you blurt out.

The disk is put into the TV monitor and it flickers to life, showing Moriarty pawing at you, licking ice cream from you whilst you do nothing to push him away. Then your voice comes loud and clear across the speaker system…

“ _I want you, Moriarty.”_

Oh fuck. They’d edited the audio to put this in the worst possible light.

You just saw Moriarty pull a face before shrugging nonchalantly, still chewing his gum. Clearly he seemed unphased by the footage.

“Motion to dismiss the witness, your honour,” the prosecution pushes.

“Granted,” comes the damning verdict.

Shit.

God this was a nightmare.

Everything you’d ever done with Moriarty was biting you in the arse right now and he knew it. The entire legal team was in on it. He knew you could never truly put him away. That’s why he was never concerned about being arrested. This was all a show trial to discredit Sherlock and to legitimise the relationship between you and Moriarty.

_Did I just seriously think of it as a relationship? How much did I really try to fight the evidence just now? Did I want this trial to end this way?_

And you found you did. Deep down, that feral little corner of your personality that had been awakened by all these experiences, craved more.

_I’m sorry, John. Sorry Sherlock. I think……I want the game to go on. It’s a mercy really. I’m saving you from him. Truly._

As you are escorted out past the box, you hear the comment directed at you from Moriarty.

“See you real soon, Mina.  _Love_  the suit by the way. Westwood was a nice choice.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial is over, Moriarty is free and now you’ve got a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Minor Smut, Angsty decision
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> (Songs in this fic are highlighted)  
>  Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

You end up scurrying out and waiting in some sort of sectioned off room. Not like you didn’t know what the verdict was going to be.

Not guilty.

It took less than half an hour before John came to find you, looking older and greyer than you remember. This whole process must have taken a toll on him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“No,” you shake your head. “My character was just assassinated in full view of the British public.”

“Why did you say it Mina?” John sighs. “That you wanted him?”

“Because I was confused, alright?” you get defensive. “All of this is so fucking confusing and he kept wanting me to say it or he’d carry on smearing ice cream on me like I was a bloody dessert platter.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” John holds up his hands. “I don’t know what happened precisely but that really didn’t look good at all.”

“I know what it looks like,” you hiss. “That’s why he’s gotten off scot free, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Between Sherlock being a complete arse and  _that_ , it was a no brainer.”

“What a complete shitstorm,” you groan.

“Yes, but we need to get you back to Baker Street right now,” John starts grabbing your arm. “If Moriarty’s being released, he’s going to come for you and he’ll do it soon.”

“What about Sherlock?”

“Sherlock can piss off right now,” John scowls. “We may have stood a chance even with your testimony getting thrown out but he just can’t stop himself from his bloody superiority complex.”

“No, my brother mine is still impetuous when his knowledge is called into question,” comes the voice of Mycroft from the doorway. “But I rather think, young lady, that you may have sabotaged this trial.”

“Excuse me?!” you say shrilly.

“Really, that oil painting spoke volumes,” Mycroft crossed his hands in front of his body, clasping them and looking down the bridge of his nose at you. “I rather think Sherlock was right in his assessment. You  _are_  being compromised.”

“How dare you say that to me when you let me walk out with a mass murderer,” you shout. “One who pulled the wool over your eyes, I might add.”

“Still beleaguering that point, I see,” Mycroft sighs, tutting slightly. “You may have fooled John Watson but you don’t fool me. You’re attached to Moriarty but I give you warning, it will only end in bloodshed.”

_No it won’t, because I have him wrapped around my finger if I chose to._

“Oh, defiance,” Mycroft scoffs, noting your expression. “And there’s the proof. This trial was never going to go any other way. Send her away, John. She’s a double agent in Baker Street.”

“I ruddy well will not,” John steps in front of you. “You have no idea how things like this affect people.”

“Stockholm Syndrome? Is that what you’re referring to?” Mycroft quirks up a pallid eyebrow. “Possible but if you want to save her then do it quick before she’s too far gone. She’s already becoming defensive about him.”

“I am not,” you spit like a child. “You’re reading into what you want to see.”

“I don’t think  _anyone_  wanted to see you become Moriarty’s buffet bar,” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Lord knows that will haunt my dreams for a while.”

“Fuck you, you’ll probably get off on it,” you lose your temper.

“Mina!” John squeaks in horror. “Stop letting this rule you. Don’t let anyone with the letter ’M’ in their name rile you up right now. Mycroft, just go.”

“Certainly shall,” comes the cold sneering reply. “With such vulgarities as this, you and Sherlock are welcome to her.”

You’re about to give a well placed put down back when you hear the sound of music and then singing.

“ _[Let ‘em say we’re crazy, what do they know, put your arms around me baby don’t ever let go. Let the world around us just fall apart. Baby we can make it if we’re heart to heaarrrrrttttt.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D3wxyN3z9PL4&t=YzgxOGE2NGQ3NDhiN2Y2NjZmODEzOWU3MTcwZjY5ZDQ0NjRiNDBhNCxZTnAyYXFnUw%3D%3D&b=t%3AqOvnaaDd_SfVYQ8UVUnylw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftheliveshipparagon.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F182043117280%2Fthe-great-game-chapter-13-sherlock-fic&m=1)”_

Someone was singing Starship?!

The door bursts open upon the chorus and you see Moriarty waving his arms in elaborate gestures, really getting into the music.

“ _And we can build this thing together, stand this stormy weather, nothings gonna stop us now. And if this world runs out of lovers, we’ll still have each other. Nothing’s gonna stop us, nothing’s gonna stop us noooooooow.”_

He abruptly stops upon seeing the company you’re in before straightening his suit out and popping more chewing gum into his mouth.

“Oh hello, everyone. No hard feelings, eh?” he shrugs casually.

“Get out of my sight,” Mycroft frowns.

Moriarty looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment before blowing a raspberry at Mycroft who looks mortally offended, “Naaaaah. 'Sides, I got someone to pick up, don’t I Mina?”

“You stay away from her,” John warns, pressing you back and keeping himself in between you and Moriarty.

“She can’t stay away from  _me_ ,” Moriarty laughs. “Gentleman, I’ll just be taking what’s mine and I’ll leave you to your 'detective’ roleplay.”

“She’s not yours. She’s not an object!” John roars, fists bared.

Moriarty just lets out a long 'uuughhhhhhhh’, looking to the ceiling before producing a gun, “I mean, I think you just like these situations, John, playing the hero, the saviour,  _the soldier_.”

“Are you really threatening us in a courthouse?” Mycroft says dryly.

“Not a threat, a promise,” the wicked gleam in Moriarty’s eye tells you he’s absolutely capable of murdering both Mycroft and John right here.

“I’ll go,” you say softly from the back.

“Oh no, no please,” John begs you.

“Sherlock’s not here to distract him,” you whisper, coming behind John to close the gap, making sure no one else can hear. “I have to, John. I’m not having him shoot you…..Mycroft’s on his own but I don’t want you getting hurt. I couldn’t live with myself. I’ll go, I’ll keep him busy so you can get at him properly.”

“He’ll break you, Mina,” John pleads. “It’s not worth losing you. You never asked to be caught up in Sherlock’s game.”

“And yet here I am,” you smile sadly. “And I refuse to watch him shoot you, because I know he will. He won’t harm me though, not any more. I know how to play him.”

“You  _think_  you do,” John corrects. “He’s dangerous. He’ll just twist everything back on you.”

“John please. Let me save  _you_ ,” you try to make him understand before moving around him.

John grabs your arm, attempting to pull you back but there’s just the most feral growl that comes from Moriarty.

“Let. Go. Now.”

“Oh I see,” John looks from him to you. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Why would I be jealous of such an unintelligent oaf like yourself, Doctor Watson?” Moriarty sneers, the cool demeanour rapidly shedding.

“Curious,” Mycroft notes. “Possessive to the point of violence. I really think you should let her go, John. It’s what she wants after all.”

John reluctantly follows the advice but not before hugging you and whispering in your ear, “We  _will_  find you and we  _will_  free you from him. I swear it, Mina. Just hold on for us.”

You just give a little nod before breaking off and walking towards Moriarty but you get about three steps forward and Mycroft chips in again.

“She’s played us all it seems.”

You don’t even realise you’re doing it. You just spring at him, punching him in the nose where he flails wildly, umbrella clattering to the floor as he almost falls over.

“I’m not some criminal mastermind!” you yell. “I’m a person who got caught up in all this rubbish and you’re treating me like I’m public enemy number one! How dare you!”

You can hear Moriarty laughing hysterically behind you as John drags you away and deposits you near the consulting criminal, a look of disappointment on his face.

“For all your bluster, Mycroft Holmes, a simple accountant got the drop on you….twice,” Moriarty manages to get out in between whoops of giggles. “You keep underestimating her. I don’t, you see. I see her for what she is. Brilliant. So I’ll be going now, ta ta. Give Sherlock my best, I shan’t be seeing him again for a while.”

Moriarty puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the room after he’s put his gun away and you turn to give one last desperate look to John who just seems like all the fight has left him.

_I’m so sorry John. I know you hate me right now but I really am trying to save you._

  
  


_**_

Once you’re in the car with Moriarty, it’s a different feeling.

There’s no air of being on edge, there’s no tenseness, you just feel normal…comfortable.

“You’re not afraid of me any more, are you?” Moriarty notes, discarding his gum out of the window before pulling a Cherry Bakewell out of a bag and delicately nibbling at it.

“No,” you admit.

“I might even suggest you’re becoming….relaxed around me?” he fixes you with a stare as he licks the filling.

“Maybe I am,” you shrug. “The painting and the video were a real cheap shot by the way.”

“Aww you can’t be angry about that,” Moriarty laughs. “It got me freedom, it got me back to you. You didn’t like seeing yourself? I thought it was just…GLORIOUS!”

“The whole of the UK now thinks we’re an item,” you cross your arms.

“Are we not?” Moriarty asks conversationally. “We’ve shared many kisses by now, Mina. You didn’t object when I said the word 'girlfriend’. You saved me in a game of life and death and now you’re even dressing to match. Face it, sweetheart, you  _like_  me.”

He pulls the cherry off the top, swirling his tongue around it and you know he’s making the display as sexual as possible, trying to put images in your head.

“None of that means we’re an item,” you shake your head.

“Do I have to make it Facebook official or something?” he snorts. “That’s what the normies do right? Oh no, but my little Mina is still going to play our game, isn’t she? Still going to pretend she’s not already chosen me.”

“I don’t believe you’re fucking me right now so you’ve not won anything,” you say bluntly.

His pupils dilate and he’s boxing you into the seat, pushing you to lie down as the car continues its journey to the unknown destination. He doesn’t say anything but merely catalogues your features for a while.

“Not  _yet_ ,” he wags a finger. “But you’re almost giving in. I still have those bruises and marks my little firecracker. Such destruction and there you go, impressing me again by unleashing your rage on Mycroft Holmes for the second time. I would love nothing more than to fuck you ragged on this seat but I know now, you deserve better so we’re doing  _something_  better but that’s tonight.”

“You’ve already planned something?” you ask.

“I plan for everything,” he scoffs. “Do you know me at all? Come on, Mina. Engage your brain.”

“Do I at least get time to have something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Oh I have no doubt,” Moriarty traces the line of your face. “Violence always makes for such hungry work. I have food at my house.”

“Boss,” Conrad interrupts over the speaker system. “We’ve had a cab tailing us for about ten minutes.”

“It’s London?” Moriarty says sarcastically. “There are cabs everywhere.”

“I mean I’ve been doing evasive driving and they’re still keeping up.”

Moriarty’s eyes go wide, “SHERLOCK!”

“Do you think-” you start but he shushes you by placing a hand over your mouth.

“Oh but this is just…. _delicious_ ,” he half cackles. “Sherlock is trying to save the day once again. He’s following us Conrad, he wants my Mina. Lord knows why he’s so insistent.”

“Because he thinks I’m the only person that can stop you,” you muffle out around his fingers, not particularly caring if he heard.

“Excuse me?” Moriarty quirks up his immaculate eyebrow, although there’s a faint scar from where you split it. “Speak up.”

He removes his hand and you repeat what you’d said and he looks like he’s mulling it over before he shouts loudly, causing you to jump.

“You’re so insightful, Mina! Sherlock is too much of a coward to finish our game, I’ve already surmised that much. I will  _always_  win and I will always make him look like an utter  _fool_. Mina, tell me your assessment.”

He folds his leg neatly over the other, fingers interlocked over his knee as he patiently waits, looking for all the world like perhaps a psychiatrist.

“I think….” you begin quietly.

“SPEAK. UP!” Moriarty bellows before half growling. “Come on…..come on, come on, come onnnnnnnn where is that fire, Mina? Where is that dominant  _goddess_  who was present just half an hour ago? This  _meekness_ , isn’t you. Show me who you are.”

“Fine!” you snap, shoving him further away from you and attempting to look out of the back window, trying to see a glimpse of the cab that was following but the tinted windows made it impossible. “Sherlock wants to see you put away, maybe even killed but he knows that if he does that, he’ll never meet someone on his level again and that scares him. I think he’d rather try and save you, have an equal but he knows that will never happen. He expects me to put you away instead because it’s easier for him to shift that blame onto someone else, that  _I_ was responsible for taking you out of his life.”

“More,” Moriarty  instructs, his eyes practically gleaming.

He was really getting off on being told how much value Sherlock had placed on him, that much was for sure.

“He thinks I am the only one who can do it because I’m close to you and you’ve done some terrible things to me so maybe I’d seek revenge before….”

“Before?”

“Before I completely lose my mind.”

“Oh Minaaaaaa, no no no no no,” he wags a finger. “It’s not losing your mind, it’s freeing your thoughts, it’s unrestraining your emotions from petty societal norms. It’s being the most genuine you you can be. What about that is  _terrible_?”

“Hey, you asked,” you shrug, knowing he wouldn’t take any responsibility for the things he’s done to you.

He comes up to you, taking your hands gently and you could almost believe for a second he was concerned, the act of domesticity masking his normal expression, “And do you think I’m terrible now?”

“To start with,” you answer honestly. “Now….now I don’t know. The Tower of London thing….”

“Ohhhh you liked it, didn’t you?” he bursts out into a wide grin. “You like it when I make big displays. I see now, you’ve never had a man put any effort in. You’ve never been used to someone being so open about how they want you, at least in a non-sexual fashion.”

“There’s no need for me to answer, you already know it’s true.”

“Boss,” Conrad interrupts again. “The cab is gaining. What would you like me to do?”

“Drive to the warehouse,” Moriarty instructs. “If Sherlock wants his showdown, he’ll get his showdown.”

“Just don’t kill him,” you urge.

That was very much the wrong thing to say because you’re shoved down, Moriarty rearing above you, completely incensed.

“And why do you care? What is it about Sherlock that means he gets to live?”

“Because he’s not a bad person fundamentally, he’s just socially stunted,” you reason.

“Something happened and it’s something I won’t like,” Moriarty says darkly. “Tell me now.”

“It was nothing,” you try to keep your face impassive.

“NEVER LIE TO ME!” he roars in your face. “Not my Mina, don’t ever lie!”

“He kissed me for an experiment,” you admit and just brace yourself for the inevitable explosion.

“Are you joking?” Moriarty blusters for a second. “Sherlock? Sherlock _kissed_  you? Are we talking about the same idiot here? He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman.”

“It’s true.”

Your heart starts hammering as Moriarty produces a flick knife and stabs the seat next to your head, a clear warning.

“And did you respond? Remember, little Mina…don’t lie to me.”

“No I didn’t, I pushed him off,” you look into the eyes of rage above you.

Moriarty searches your face for a while before coming to a conclusion, “You don’t fancy Sherlock, that much I can tell but he had his hands….he had his hands on you, he had his  _mouth_  on you. That I can’t abide, oh no. I need to claim what’s mine and…..AH! I know just what to do.”

He leaves the knife stuck in the seat cushion whilst he pins your wrists above your head, tracing your neck with his tongue and making you shiver. That was just the preamble, however, as his teeth sunk into the skin, tearing his signature in a very obvious kind of way, sucking to make tiny bruises pop up.

“What are you-” you try to speak but then he hits a particular spot that always gets you aroused and you can’t help the small half whimper, half gasp that happens.

“Fuck I love it when you give in to me,” Moriarty grins against your neck. “Little savage Mina,  _lioness_  even but I’ll always make you purr for me. You just can’t help it, I know what you want and I am alllll too happy to give it to you, sweetheart. Let me show Sherlock exactly whose girl you are.”

“Please….please don’t,” you try to protest but you’re not really doing much to stop it, you realise.

_I may as well try to distract him from doing any more damage to my neck, right? That’s what I’m doing right?_

You capture his attention by grabbing his hair and yanking him backwards from you where he looks equals parts affronted and curious.

“Not very nice, Mina,” he scolds.

“Just shut the fuck up,” you order, forcing his head back down to you.

You may have caught him by surprise because he fumbles whilst you kiss him before regaining his cool demeanour, upping the ante by pouring so much passion into it, you’re overwhelmed. The man may be a psychopath but he felt lust and emotion intensely and he was not afraid to show it.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he breaks away, lavishing affection along your collarbone to bite at the other side of your neck, leaving more marks. “Oohhhh Mina, just sing it to me.”

“No,” you push him roughly off you and into the footwell of the car so you land on top of him. “ _You_  tell me,  _you’re_  mine.”

“Mina, I will tell you anything you want if you’ll just keep doing that. Oh fuuuuuuck,” he groans, head lolling back against the carpeted floor as your hand brushes past his inner thigh.

“Tell me how you really feel then,” you challenge him. “Tell me what you were going to say before we were interrupted at the Tower.”

“Before we were interrupted?” he chuckles. “Oh so you  _do_  enjoy being around me. All that rubbish at the trial about being a hostage and it being against your will…..Mina…..if you’ll admit we’re an item, I’ll tell you what I was going to say. Deal?”

“Then we’re an item,” you respond quickly.

“Oh don’t give me that rubbish,” Moriarty scowls at you. “I know you’re trying to play me. I’m clever, remember?”

“Moriarty, I can’t stay away from you,” you decide to stick with the truth and maybe that will force the confession from him and you can win this game. “I missed you when I was with John and Sherlock.”

“The truth is good, Mina,” he says earnestly, clutching your face in his hands. “Having you apart from me was like a piece of myself was ripped out. The voices just….oh the fucking voices got louder and louder and LOUDER AND LOUDER. Around you, they just….poof, gone. I can think clearly, I’m occupied. I’m the best version of me. Chaos  _and_  order.”

“But you didn’t tell me what you were going to say?” you point out, letting your hand drift higher up his leg.

He just smirks, hiking your legs up so you’re properly straddling him as you place your hands on his chest to stop yourself falling. There’s a gyration of his hips where you can feel the obvious strain in his trousers press up against you and you can’t help but seek a slight bit of friction which he definitely notices.

“Let me win,” he says uncharacteristically softly. “Let me win, Mina and we can stop torturing ourselves with this. I want you, I  _need_  you, stop denying me.”

You decide to reverse the situation, grinding against him where his eyes nearly roll back into his head, “Nuh uh, Jim. Let  _me_  win, say what you were going to say and you can have me.”

“As simple as that?” he grabs your thighs, using them to buck you forward and back. “Call me Jim again, sweetheart. Say it like I’m fucking you hard.”

“Jim,” it comes out as more of a breathy moan as you’re aware he’s not even moving your hips any more, you’re doing it on your own.

He sits up, one arm roughly circling your waist as the other grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down into a vicious kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you continue to ride against him, fully clothed.

You’re so fogged by lust, you can’t even think straight. You’re about ten seconds away from ripping off his clothes and having him right there in the footwell of the car.

“Boss…..BOSS,” Conrad’s voice comes through the speaker.

“WHAT?” Moriarty shouts angrily. “What could possibly be more important than what’s happening right now?!”

“We’re here and Sherlock’s taxi is pulling up.”

“Cockblocked by the great consulting detective again,” comes the bitter snarl as he bodily manages to pick you up and put you back on the seat before dusting off his suit and going to open the door.

“You’re going out like that?” you ask pointedly, looking at the very obvious jut in his trousers.

“You think I care what Sherlock thinks? He’ll probably be jealous it wasn’t him that caused it,” Moriarty scoffs before just casually popping out of the car and gesturing for you to follow.

He grabs hold of your wrist, pulling you along to the innards of the warehouse where you get into the main factory floor. He just keeps you close, unbuttoning some more of your shirt so the love bites are extremely visible.

“Perfect,” he kisses his hand in a mock chef kind of way.

You hear the rapid footsteps and then see the swish of grey as Sherlock barrels into the room, eyes wide. He says nothing but just approaches the two of you and you can see him assessing the situation.

He looks incredibly disappointed as he stops about a few feet away, “Oh Mina…”

“I’m sorry,” you offer. “For what it’s worth.”

“This girl,” Sherlock points at you. “This girl is brave, she is intelligent, she is witty and she is strong willed. You’ve broken her Moriarty.”

“I’ve  _freed_  her,” Moriarty corrects.

“Give her back, give her back and maybe you can keep playing your cat and mouse game,” Sherlock tries.

“Did you really think that would work?” Moriarty pouts. “Poor little Sherlock Holmes. As if I’d allow her to go back when you’ve had your hands all over her. Don’t think I don’t know.”

You can see Sherlock’s mind working and you just pray that he won’t try something that’ll set Moriarty off. He was in a very volatile mood being denied release again.

“We had a moment, didn’t we, Mina?” Sherlock turns to you.

Fuck.

_You idiot, Sherlock. That was the worst thing you could have possibly said._

“And did you?” Moriarty says very dangerously, leaning close…so close you could feel the warmth from his breath and it made your hairs stand on end.

“No,” you answer. “It’s just a fabrication, a pretence to make me think he cares for me more than he does.”

“It’s not, Mina,” Sherlock says more forcefully but you know he’s still bluffing, trying to put doubt in Moriarty’s mind that he may not have complete dominion over you.

“You bore her, Sherlock,” Moriarty rolls his eyes. “As if she’d  _ever_  be attracted to someone so dull. Nice try but no. She’s staying with me. Our game is nearly over.”

“Mina,” Sherlock says desperately. “You’ve not quite gone over the line. It’s still not too late to turn back. Just come with me. I can save you.”

Moriarty laughs harshly, pushing you out into the middle of them.

“Go on then, Mina. Make your choice.”

You just look from Sherlock’s determined face to Moriarty’s smug satisfied grin. Whichever choice you made it would be the wrong one, whichever choice you made, someone’s game would end.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck between Sherlock and Moriarty, who will you side with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Some Angst
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

You think you surprised them both when you just walked away, straight in front of you without choosing a side.

“Fuck this. I’m done,” you huff. “I’m not being the prize in your pissing contest.”

“Mina, wait!” Sherlock calls.

“Oh now that  _is_  curious,” you hear Moriarty murmur. “So unexpected, I  _love_  it.”

You whirl around to look at the both of them, one expression of desperation and one expression of intense mania.

“You want to show me who really cares? I’m getting in that car with Conrad. I’ll disappear and find somewhere in the next two hours and whoever shows up to get me, I’ll go with them,” you lay down the challenge. “But that will be the end of it. I’m tired, I’m so tired.”

“Mina, just come with me,” Sherlock extends his hand. “You were so good at detective work for a novice. Please, I need the help.”

“Really?” Moriarty scoffs. “ _That’s_  your big play? Trying to sweeten her with  _those_  words? Go on, my little Mina. You run away and let’s see if the big bad wolf finds you.”

“WAIT!” Sherlock shouts as you just turn and power walk out to the car.

You get in quickly, locking the doors and jamming the seat belt on.

“Conrad, I’m going to tell you to take me to a place. It’s part of the game,” you say into the comms system.

“No can do. Gotta wait for the boss’-”

There’s the sound of a text tone that rings out.

“Oh no, we’re good. Where would you like to go?”

“Take me to Westminster Abbey.”

“You got it, Mina,” Conrad says. “So, not to pry or anything but are you and the boss together now?”

“I don’t honestly know,” you say truthfully. “What would you do in my situation?”

“Never have left Baker Street?” Conrad snorts. “The boss pays well but he can be scary sometimes. Can’t say how I would feel if he made romantic advances though.”

“Yeah, sorry you have to hear that,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Hey it’s alright, I have a mute button,” he laughs.”It comes in handy.”

“Still….”

“So why the Abbey?”

“Oh that’s just the first stop. I have no doubt he’s got some tracker on this car so I’ll get out there and make my way to the final place.”

“Smart,” Conrad approves. “You’re a definite match for him, even if you are too sweet.”

“It worries me that people think that way….hell, practically all of the UK does now so why should I stress myself over it?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Conrad says hopefully. “Sherlock Holmes would drive you crazy if you stayed with him from what I’ve heard you say.”

“Yeah but I’d miss John if I never went back,” you admit. “He’s always been kind to me, Mrs Hudson too.”

“The boss might let you see them. He’s not a total control freak, only mostly.”

“Maybe.”

The rest of the car journey was done in silence.

  
  


**

  
  


When you reached Westminster Abbey, you got out before ditching your phone in a nearby bin and wandering in the direction that you’d memorised.

You’d made sure to search several locations, just to throw off whoever found your phone. Couldn’t make it that easy, right?

You did feel a bit like a sitting duck as you strode forward, picking up new clothes from a charity shop, so you wouldn’t be recognised so much, given that your face was just splashed all over the TV and the newstands. You had no idea how the public would react to you.

You got the tube, heading towards the DLR line where you changed again and finally onto a bus. Unless one of the two had control of London’s CCTV, it would be difficult to follow where you were.

About one and a half hours had now passed since you left that warehouse and you were getting antsy, wondering why you had volunteered yourself for what amounted to a human hunt. It was making you both anxious and exhilarated at the same time.

You hit your final destination at Lesnes Abbey before setting up roots underneath an ancient archway, reading a book you’d gotten in the charity shop, trying to keep yourself occupied whilst also scanning for anyone coming near you.

Then it occurred to you.

You’d begun thinking like Moriarty.

Your first instinct when faced with a stressful situation was to turn it into some jovial game to decide an outcome. That was not how you would’ve decided to do things before Moriarty came into your life. The old you would’ve gone to Sherlock to still cling onto the tattered remains of your morality, still convincing yourself that you’d not completely lost yourself.

_Who am I really rooting for here to find me?_

You knew your answer already, you just weren’t at the point where you could admit it to yourself.

Another hour passed and you were getting to the closing chapters. Maybe you should’ve bought another book. Maybe you should’ve brought something to eat too because you still hadn’t had anything since the morning.

Then you hear footsteps walking along the ruined wall behind you and your breathing stops as you strain your ears to listen to the gait. Was it one of them? Was it just a child playing?

The footsteps go above you on the archway and you resist the urge to look up, playing it cool so whoever it was couldn’t see your potential excitement. Then they completely stop and your fingers are just hovering over the page, not sure whether to continue reading.

“You like your abbeys, hmmm?”

You look up and Moriarty is dangling upside down from the archway, staring intently at you. Everything in you just relaxes and you end up smiling which you think throws him off a little. He gives you a very curious look before something clicks and he just gives you a million dollar grin.

“Oh little Mina! You’re happy it was me, aren’t you? You secretly  _wanted_  it to be me.”

“So how did you find me?” you ignore his statement.

He drops from the archway to sit next to you, taking your book and discarding it nearby before looping an arm around your shoulder.

“You think I don’t know you? I’m insulted,” he huffs. “I read your travel journals.  _All of them_. I found every ticket stub you’ve ever saved, I went through your browser history and….well, let me just say you’re  _full_  of surprises. But….fascinating erotic habits aside, you just  _love_ old ruins. Of all the places you searched for on that phone, you so cleverly ditched, it stood out as the clear obvious choice.”

“You went through my browser history?”

He rolls his eyes, “Focus, Mina. Let’s talk about my great victory. I won your game! Aren’t I brilliant? I beat Sherlock. He wasn’t even close. I had Conrad keep tabs on him. Can you believe he went to The Globe? What a moroooooon. You only have Shakespeare in your bookshelf to seem cultured.”

“How did you-”

“ _Nobody_  reads Shakespeare for fun,” he grimaces. “Good loooord.”

“So, congrats, I guess,” you shrug. “You won my game.”

“And mine still continues,” he smirks at you, taking a lock of your hair and twirling it in his fingers. “Although it nearly ended in the car. Oh,  _Mina,_ I felt such fire from you then. Come back with me. I still have those plans for tonight and I promise you will  _adore_  them.”

You turn to face him, lips barely centimetres away from his, “You won my game, Moriarty. You get to take me home.”

“Oh it will be my pleasure,” he half growls, eyes hooded with lust, gaze flicking down to your mouth. “Let me show you more of my house…”

He stands up, gallantly pulling you up off the grass before leading you to a waiting car with a chauffeur you don’t recognise. You take one last look at your book, lying forlorn in the centre of the ruins, its final chapter never read.

There’s one swish of grey in the farthest horizon but it’s pointless now. Sherlock lost by a country mile and you would never go back to Baker Street again.

  
  


**

  
  


Moriarty’s house was quite nice from what you saw of it.

Having only been in the library and the downstairs bathroom, the living room caught your attention as being quite old fashioned with its dour armchairs and even a globe drinks cabinet. You didn’t get much time to have a look though because he pulled your arm quite forcefully up the stairs until you reached what you thought was his bedroom.

“And now where the magic happens,” he does jazz hands before doing a mini tap dance. “I do hope you’ll like it. You’ll be staying here a lot now.”

When he opens the door, you see an opulent four poster bed with silk curtains shimmering down from the frame. What you also notice is that your stuff from your flat has been moved into the room too. You spot your dressing table and your clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

“Did you…..did you move me in?” you ask, stepping in and finding more and more of your things blended with his.

“I was  _very_  confident I’d win,” he shrugs. “And now you’re staying me with because frankly, my Mina deserves better than a poxy flat in  _Shepherd’s Bush_ of all places.”

“I paid for that flat,” you feel a bit deflated.

“Oh you want to be reimbursed? Is that it?”

He strides over to a cabinet before yanking out a briefcase. Then he beckons you over to the bed and takes your hand, making you sit in the centre of the bed before he springs up with an agility you didn’t see coming so he’s stood over you. Then he opens the briefcase over your head and cash just pours out, floating down around you.

“Shit, is that real?!” you blurt out.

“Don’t insult me, Mina,” he laughs. “Of course it is. Now, enjoy my little queen of chaos!”

He throws the rest of the money up in the air before chucking the briefcase away and then he just pounces upon you, knocking you into the mattress as notes flutter down.

“God I fucking  _need_  you, Mina,” he rasps, face buried in your neck. “Let this game end tonight. I can’t hold myself back any more.”

You wrap your legs around his back, pinning him to you and he responds with a low groan and a languid roll of his hips.

“Just say what I wanna hear then,” you say sweetly.

“Such a little  _minx_ ,” his eyes practically glitter. “Ohhhh you’re so so good at this. You drive me crazy!”

“Aren’t you crazy already?”

“Hmmmm you make a good point,” he muses, his hand raking through your hair. “But I thought you liked that about me?”

“Do I?”

“Well…..” his hand unexpectedly dips down to cup your sex and you jerk slightly at the touch, a tiny gasp escaping your lips. “Those dress pants certainly aren’t dry any more so I would say…..yes.”

This was the first time he’d been so blatantly sexual with you. You realised he was losing control of the situation, his need greater than his pride. Or maybe…..

You look at his face, the mania slightly receded and you see something that kind of scares you. Just….a raw genuine emotion of affection.

Oh my god, he was comfortable with you.

“Say it,” you stare into his eyes.

“No no no little Mina,” he taps you on the nose lightly. “This is not the time.”

“But you could fuck me in a giant pile of money right now?” you quirk up an eyebrow.

There’s a heavy growl that rips through him as he leans all his weight on you, taking your bottom lip in his teeth and biting, not hard enough to break the skin but enough that you take notice.

“I  _knew_  there was deviance in you,” he ruts against you slightly. “Oh you  _goddess_! I am so proud to have freed you. You are truly divine.”

Then he’s kissing you, hands coming underneath your shoulders, making himself as close to you as possible.

You’re not fighting it any more. You’ve come to terms with it now. You  _do_  want Moriarty. You feel alive when you’re with him and whilst that still makes you feel guilty, you can’t stand the emotions any more. You don’t want to try and be moral and good. You just want to see how this goes without you resisting all the time.

“Oh we are going to be late,” Moriarty murmurs, pulling away from you.

“Late for what?”

“I told you, I have plans this evening. Keep up.”

“And….what are they?”

He flips you over so you’re both lying side by side, bodies still intertwined where he starts stroking up your waist.

“We….my little darling ray of chaos….are going to a ball.”

“A ball? Like a masquerade ball?” you question.

“Exactly!” he giggles. “I’m going to show you off to the world because now…and finally, you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours until-”

He silences you by obnoxiously shushing and shaking his head.

“Details, details. Just be grateful, Mina. This is a very prestigious event.”

“What’s the angle?” you eye him suspiciously. “There’s always an angle. Are you going to hold a bunch of rich people hostage? Steal some jewels? Kill some dignitaries?”

“Oh my, you’ve read faaaaar too many crime novels,” Moriarty rolls his eyes. “No no no, this is just fun. Remember, chaos  _and_  order. This is a classier version of order.”

You just stare at him and he starts to squirm a little bit, not looking at you until he makes a pained sound.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm wellllllllllllll alright, you got me. I might have been planning a teensy tiny little operation. You see, the leader of this little ball has my painting.”

“You mean… _that_  painting?”

“Clever girl,” he says almost sarcastically. “Yes of course, that painting. They took it as collateral at the trial and it was sold at auction….it fetched quite a pretty price by all accounts. Art of murderers tends to do very well.”

“But if we go in there they’ll know it’s us? Oh wait….the masquerade….the masks.”

His eyes go wide, “I didn’t even consider that option. I was just going to go in and shoot the man whilst he made his speech because I can but nooooo……no no no no no this is  _much_  better. A covert operation! YES! I LOVE IT! Oh Mina, you’re so smart. See, this is why you complete me.”

“I complete you?”

“Oh you silly girl,” he tuts. “Do you not get it by now? You make me feel things, things I’ve never felt, things I didn’t believe I was capable of feeling. It’s been such a dullllllll life. So many  _boring_  women. Sure they’re good for a very short time but none of them ever set my soul on fire like this. Everything was just so  _grey_  before I chose you.”

Oh my god, it was happening. You think this might be the moment that he finally confesses and loses the game.

“And now?”

“Now it’s just vivid and bright and I….”

He trails off, face falling a little before he grips you, pulling your head firmly into his chest so you can’t see his expression any more. Maybe he’s embarrassed.

“Mina….can you keep a secret? I mean…if you don’t, I’ll kill you but I think you will anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Since I met you….I don’t want to die any more.”

Well you didn’t expect that…..


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty takes you on your first ever art heist but is the criminal life that easy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of depression, mild abusive behaviour
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

“You don’t?” you squirm in his grip, trying to look up. “You don’t want to die any more?”

“There were days I couldn’t move out of bed,” he murmurs, the life just suddenly draining out of him. “What was the point? Everything was sooooo uninspiring. The floor near the bathroom door. I stayed there for five days straight until I tried to go out into society. But Mina, oh my Mina, everyone was just so  _dull_. Do you have any clue what it’s like to be this clever and have no one understand you? The real you? All this showmanship, it’s entertaining but meaningless in the end. You know, I really thought Sherlock was the one to give me a last hurrah but even  _he_  was disappointing…. _dreadfully_  disappointing. His intellect may be good but he’s too afraid of himself that even his reflection probably scares him.”

This is the most candid Moriarty had ever been with you. The mask had slipped and all the acting out was gone. In its place was this raw human, begging to find a purpose.

Your hand is stroking across his cheek before you realise and his face goes through a range of emotions. Shock, embarrassment, discomfort and finally….peace.

“Mina Pevensey,” he sighs. “It’s always been you. You’re what I’ve needed all these years…even with your ridiculous surname, which, by the way, I can erase from the National Archives if you want me to because I mean…good  _god_. Do you have a family manor house where you hide evacuees?”

“Like Moriarty isn’t pretentious either,” you huff.

“I work it, sweetheart,” and just like that, the fleeting confession was over but something still affectionate lingered in his eyes. “Tell me, I mean, we’re already late for this thing so why not go for broke, hmm? Tell me, do I affect you as much as you affect me? Fuck, you’re buried so deep into my psyche it’s uncontrollable at times.”

“I think you saw for yourself,” you dodge the question. Admitting it still felt wrong.

“You mean that  _huge_ smile you gave when I found you first?” he laughs. “Oh Mina, Mina, Mina, Mina,  _Mina,_ you’ve got it bad, honey. Well good for you because I’ve got it  _really_  bad. That week without you…I thought depression was atrocious but this was like  _actual_ bodily pain.”

His hand curls around your throat, pushing you onto your back and holding you there, just enough pressure to start making you lightheaded, “I  _never_  want to feel that again. Don’t ever leave me, Mina. Don’t  _ever_  leave.”

You got the implication behind his words. You knew full well if Moriarty couldn’t have you, he’d make sure no one else could.

But why didn’t that terrify you to your very core?

 

**

 

“How long does it take to get ready?!” you call, fixing your mask over your face.

Moriarty took longer than you did. I mean, you assumed his look took quite a lot of precision grooming but you didn’t expect it to take a further  _hour_.

“Someone’s eager,” comes the sexually loaded remark from the walk in closet.

He finally comes out, in a full lord’s dress suit. You don’t even want to know how he acquired that. He seems to take one look at you before you’re pinned to the back of the bedroom door, his mouth at your neck.

“You don’t play fair. You know I  _love_  purple,” he growls, his fingers pawing at the silken ballgown.

It was tightly corseted, showing your figure to its extreme where the fabric suddenly flared out at your thighs, pooling in amethyst swathes around your feet. You were thankful for the off the shoulder sleeves or you’d probably be thrown out for indecency.

“You know what you have to do, Jim,” you say in a sing song voice, pushing him back and wagging your finger.

“And there she is,” Moriarty says proudly, holding both his hands up to the heavens. “Fully in the game at last, fully enjoying it. I hope tonight’s the night, Mina because I’d  _love_  to rip into that thing and fuck you until you screamed.”

“Well that’s all dependant on you,” you turn, the train swishing with you and you try not to think about how many thousands of pounds this dress is worth and here you are, slightly standing on it with your shoes trying to seem more seductive than you are.

The prospect of a full on art theft heist was filling you with dread to be honest and you were just trying to fake some confidence around Moriarty. This was the first time he’d ever directly taken you on one of his ‘missions’ as he calls them and you were terrified something would go wrong.

_Why do I care any more? The UK media already thinks I’m the Bonnie to his Clyde. Should I just embrace that or try to steer him on a better path? Fuck, have I really lost my way so much that I’m thinking about participating?_

“Hmm,” Moriarty puts his hand under his chin. “Overthinking. I don’t like it. Stop that now.”

“I’m not used to this,” you admit.

“Oh it’s quite simple really,” he gestures wildly. “We go in, we sneak off, we find the painting and we vamooooooose. That’s the tidiest way, no? That’s the way you want it, isn’t it Mina? Order?”

“Well at least have a plan if it all goes tits up,” you sigh, trying not to pace. “If someone spots us.”

“Then we kill them,” Moriarty shrugs, producing a gun from his jacket pocket. “Made of plastic, undetectable by metal detectors. Hold your applause, I know, I know.”

“I can’t-” you start but he draws you into a passionate kiss.

“Never say can’t, Mina. I thought I’d shown you better. I could just go back to my original plan if you prefer?”

“No!” you blurt out immediately. “Stick with my plan.”

“ _Your_  plan,” Moriarty muses.  “I could get used to this. Partners in crime, I believe? OH! We could open an agency! The Moriarty’s – Consulting Criminals. We could even have those film noir blinds on it!”

“The…” you trail off.

He’d just spoken about you like you were a family unit, like you’d taken his name. What the everliving fuck did that mean?! You hadn’t bargained on something like this. Something so….permanent.

But really what did you expect? You  _chose_  to go with Moriarty. You could’ve easily gone back with Sherlock but you  _chose_  this life. Even when he found you at the abbey you could’ve run but you didn’t and he’d just made it clear he never wanted you to leave.

_A whole life with Moriarty?_

He sees your expression and sneers, “Come off it, Mina. Did you really think I’d let you have that  _awful_  surname forever? When you give into me, you’re mine and that means you’re mine  _forever_. Do you get that? This is a grand gesture to end all grand gestures when our game finally ends….that is…if you’re brave enough. That tiny spark of fear in your eye….disappointing. You’re too afraid of the wider consequences.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, grabbing those immaculate lapels and holding him firmly. “I’m not a robot. I can’t just turn these emotions off and I made a  _big_  choice. This choice has changed my life forever so I’m not going to react like I’ve just finally managed to choose something to watch at the cinema. I have  _feelings_ , I have  _emotions_. I need time….”

“To adjust,” he finishes for you, eyes ablaze. “But you’re not hating it. You’re surprised. You’re surprised I would be laying out a future. What? A psychopath can’t have romantic dreams? Soooo cliché. Mina? Don’t you fucking get it?”

He bursts out of your grip, holding your waist in one hand and your jaw in the other, a look of fury and of delight mixed evenly on his face, “I’m  _obsessed_  with you. Every  _fucking_  waking moment, every fucking dream. You drive me  _insane._ I want to hate you, I want to fuck you, I want to hold you, I want to lo……..look at you always.”

“Coward,” you hiss. “Couldn’t say it, could you?”

“NEVER CALL ME A COWARD!” he roars in your face but it’s all bluster because he is and you both know it.

“Shall we?” you extend your hand. “We have a ball to get to.”

The anger sheds rapidly from his posture and in its place is the cool indifference as he smooths himself out. Then he takes your hand and guides you to the car outside, all the tension forgotten about in an instant.

When you’re sitting there in the car, his hand stroking up your thigh in a distracted sort of way, you’re reflecting.

You almost had him say it twice but really….how would you feel when he finally did? After all, is the love of a criminal such a prize? Not so long ago you would’ve said no.

Now….

  


**

You’re introduced as the Pevenseys, much to your surprise.

“My name is a little obvious,” Moriarty smirks. “Now be a good little grifter and keep up the pretence. Dance with me.”

“What?” you blink.

You hadn’t expected to actually…..you know…..do ball stuff. When he leads you out to the centre of the ballroom, you’re nervous and you’re fumbling.

“All the grace of a baby duck,” he rolls his eyes, pulling you closer. “Here, stop being Mina the accountant. Be Mina the unrestrained. Let. Go.”

You relax yourself, staring at him through his ornate mask at those intense eyes before he leads you first from a beginner’s waltz then to something more like a novice tango. You’re very sure it didn’t fit the music at all and in fact, you saw the conductor notice you both and try to adjust the tempo accordingly.

Forty other dancers fell into the same dance that you were doing, some highly professional, some just enjoying themselves. You couldn’t look away at them though.

Moriarty’s gaze was just boring into you, so much passion bleeding through that you forget you’re even moving. It’s a different kind of eye contact than the one at the Tower of London. It’s different because _everything_  is different.

You catch the stray thought as it ripples through you, just as Moriarty ducks you and pulls you back to him, soft hands gliding gently up your back. That gaze. That fucking gaze.

_He loves me. He must do._

Then you’re leaning up in the middle of the dance, interrupting everything just to kiss him. Even that he turns into a dip, holding you as he breaks away.

“You’ve got it really really bad,” he smirks before righting you and continuing.

_Fuck. I do._

You’re assessing the angles of his cheekbones, the rakishness of his jaw, the glimmering fire in his eyes and you know why you made the choice you did, the choice not to run back to Sherlock.

_Fuck, I’m in love with him. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!_

“Revelation?” he says conversationally, studying your expression. “Is it that we’re devastating the entire ball? Everyone keeps looking. They’re staring in fact. I don’t blame them. I mean…look at us.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to focus on his words and not the rising panic in your chest. He was right of course, everyone  _was_ staring at you. You wondered why though.

When the song ends, Moriarty gallantly kisses your hand with a short bow before a tiny circle of socialites crowds around you.

“Such a wonderful thing to see a young couple in love,” an elderly lady coos. “Have you been together long?”

“Sort of a whirlwind romance,” Moriarty answers sweetly, putting his arm around your waist and you just naturally lean into him.

“All fire,” she nods wisely. “I must say, that was quite a display. Not very technically skilled but by far the most passionate which is what counts in a tango.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” you pipe up.

You couldn’t focus on your little epiphany, you could deal with it later. For now, you had to play your part.

“Do something wild,” Moriarty whispers into your ear. “I dare you. I triple dog dare you.” Then he kisses your cheek and begins talking genially with some oil magnate.

Something wild? He was trying to encourage you to bring attention to yourselves even  _further_? No…no that wasn’t it. He was trying to make you do something illegal, something small to start off with so you’d feel less guilty about the task ahead. He was preparing you, supporting you….in a weird way.

_God, am I really doing this?_

The lady who’s just been singing your praises has her bag slung over her shoulder loosely, clasp open and everything completely bared. You spot a purse nestling near the top and sidle over, your heart racing as you try one of the oldest tricks in the book.

You bump into her, knocking her forward slightly as you palm the purse into your own waiting bag before stumbling slightly.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you teeter on your heels. “I feel frightfully dizzy.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Moriarty jumps to attention before looking at your mark. “Please take care of her for a second.”

“Of course,” the lady smiles slightly before tending to you, supporting your frame. “You shouldn’t over exert yourself in such restrictive clothing.”

“The perils of fashion,” you offer weakly.

“I remember those days,” she sighs. “Although I must admit I didn’t attempt a tango in a corset.”

“Nor will I again,” you laugh softly.

Moriarty comes over with water, thanking the lady kindly before helping you to the side of the room where you keep up the act by sipping the liquid daintily until your former little crowd disperses into their normal cliques and circles.

Then Moriarty pulls you out and into a hallway where he dives into another room, shutting the door behind you.

“YES,” it comes out as a feral growl. “How did it feel?”

“A rush,” you answer honestly, producing the purse. “That was so wrong, so so wrong.”

“But so fucking hot,” Moriarty moans, picking you up and placing you on a desk. Seemed you’d stumbled into an office. “Like a natural. You were  _born_  for chaos Mina.”

His kisses are heavy, laden all over every inch of bare skin before he finds your lips, pressing his body in between your legs, hiking up your dress to remove one barrier. You just melt at that point. The heady concoction of the dance, your first ever criminal act and his encompassing lust is just overwhelming.

“The game doesn’t end unless you let me fuck you,” he purrs in your ear.

“The game doesn’t end unless you tell me what you really feel,” you challenge back.

“I  _love_  how stubborn you are,” he giggles. “God, the aching need, Mina. Do you feel?”

How could you not? His evident appreciation was sparking your own yearning off and you’d gone from questioning whether to spend a life with Moriarty to wanting him to take you on this stranger’s desk right now.

“I feel,” you rock against him slightly. “But….painting.”

“Fuck the painting,” he hisses, fingers making divets in your thighs as he grips tightly.  “I need you.”

You take his bottom lip in your teeth, biting softly, “Painting, Jim. Do I deserve a desk?”

His eyes widen, “Not at all, Mina. Whatever you want I will make it happen.”

“Then let’s take our painting and I’ll tell you what I want later.”

“ _Our_  painting,” he makes a slight joyful squeak, backing away and stuffing his fist into his mouth. “You called it our painting. You have no idea how  _fucking_  happy that makes me.”

“Come on,” you kiss him on the cheek, leading him out of the room. “We’ve lingered here too long.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Moriarty croons. “You’re even  _more_  ravishing now you’ve embraced yourself and embraced what we have. God, I’m so good at picking people.”

He starts giggling like a schoolgirl as he runs down the corridor with you, you hitching your dress up and him leading the way as he weaves through room after room, secret passages and shortcuts until you come to a display area.

“Is that-” you start.

“The Vitruvian Man, yes,” Moriarty nods. “Venice thinks it has the real one. Laughable how easy it is to steal originals, really.”

And there was yours, in the centre of the left wall. It looked less imposing now and you suppose you must have both been giving that same look tonight whilst you danced because really….how could you not have realised how deeply you’d fallen down this rabbit hole, even at that point?

Moriarty takes the frame down before palming it around, wondering what to do. You spot some restoration tools and grab the scalpel before yanking it from Moriarty and cutting the canvas out methodically until you could roll it up into a tube and then you handed it back.

“Brilliant!” Moriarty tap dances. “This whole espionage thing is quite thrilling, really! Maybe I should’ve tried the sneaky approach years ago.”

“Put it in your suit jacket,” you instruct, placing the frame back up on the wall and wiping down the scalpel before depositing it in a nearby plant pot. “Come on, time to go.”

“I have to say, I never knew you had it in you,” Moriarty muses, tucking the canvas away. “Little moral Mina and she’s actually got quite the brain for criminality.”

“I am full of surprises,” you quirk up an eyebrow.

“That you are,” he bites his lip, watching you walk out into the corridor before following.

You get five feet down the hallway and alarms start blaring.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You were going to get caught, you were going to go to prison. You’d fucked your life up for the sake of James Moriarty.

He, on the other hand, seemed very calm about what was going on and just took your hand, walking slowly back with you. You met no one on the way back into the main ballroom but saw several policeman scanning the crowds and…

“Sherlock,” you breathe.

Sherlock and John were rapidly searching through the throngs of people.

“God, he just doesn’t know when to give up,” Moriarty groans. “I should’ve shot him in that warehouse. Come on.”

If the prospect of the police catching you filled you with dread, Sherlock and John doing the same made your entire stomach flip. You couldn’t…you couldn’t let them see that you’d obviously picked a side. You couldn’t do that to John.

Fuck.

FUCK!

You’re yanked up the stairs and you hurry along, ditching your uncomfortable shoes nearby to run barefoot, flying up the various levels as Moriarty leads you higher and higher. He can’t contain his laughter as he sprints, the excitement and the mania too much.

_Fuck, they’re definitely going to hear that. They know he’s here. They know_ I’m _here._

You barrel out onto the rooftop, him leading you right to the edge where all you can see is the ornate gardens, twisting in their expertly pruned patterns. There was nowhere to go.

“Why did you lead us up here?” you hiss, getting frantic. “We’re trapped.”

“Oh no, not quite,” Moriarty wags a finger. “You see,  _now_ is the  _real_ test, Mina. I’m not going to hide you any more. I’m not going to make excuses so you’ll still be in Sherlock and John’s good graces. When they come up here, and oh they will, you’re going to have to show them what you really are.”

“What…..” you trail off. “I….I….”

“Did you think I was just going to protect your reputation forever?” he pouts sarcastically. “No no no. If you  _truly_  want to see this game through until the end, you’ll declare yourself to the world. Not Mina the accountant…..”

“But Mina Moriarty,” you finish for him.

His eyes widen, his grin spreading across his face as he whoops, “Exactly! So if you can’t declare that to Sherlock and John then….you were never really a player.”

God, this was the most horrible situation you’d been in. It gnawed at you in a way that even being trussed up in a bomb vest couldn’t. Your emotions were split, pulling at all angles and you feared you might break down right there.

_I can’t see John’s face. I can’t._

You briefly consider in a moment of thought intrusion whether to jump off the side of the building to save yourself the inevitable heartache.

Bang!

The door to the roof bounces open and Sherlock and John run forward, panting heavily.

“Mina!” John smiles in relief. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me,” you reply, dreading what’s to come. “How did you find us?”

“The painting,” Sherlock interrupts, looking straight at Moriarty who’s dangling one leg over the edge for fun. “I had a feeling he’d come back for it and then I saw the invite list. Pevensey is not much of a common name. A rather simple mistake, Moriarty.”

“Was it?” Moriarty shrugs, smiling.

“No…something’s not right,” John shakes his head. “Why would he be so obvious?”

“Even geniuses slip up, John,” Sherlock huffs. “It seems not even one of the great minds is immune to romantic distraction now and then.”

“And what a distraction she is,” Moriarty laughs, presenting you with wide arms. “Ain’t she just a beaut, gentlemen? Wouldn’t you just  _love_ to get under that dress?”

“Stop that right now!” John snarls. “Mina, it’s alright, come away from the ledge.”

“I can’t,” you say in pure terror.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock rolls his eyes before walking forward but Moriarty places one arm around your waist, leaning back over the precipice.

“Uh uh uh, boys,” he warns. “You don’t get to do that.”

“This obsession ends now, Moriarty,” Sherlock seems incredibly angry. “Let her go. The damage you’ve inflicted on her is heinous.”

“Have I damaged you, sweetheart?” Moriarty looks at you, eyes flicking down to your lips. “You should see the damage she did to  _me_. I have the scars to show for it.”

“Well deserved,” John comes a little bit closer. “There’s nowhere to go, Moriarty. Give it up.”

“No,” he whines. “You think so small. It’s incredibly disappointing. So booooring.”

John’s confused, you’re confused but Sherlock’s not because he sprints forward just as Moriarty deliberately grabs your wrist before dangling you off the roof, your feet only barely managing to stay on.

“ENOUGH!” Sherlock bellows.

“Come near me and I’ll drop her,” Moriarty says calmly. “Back up and I’ll let her regain her footing.”

“Sherlock for god’s sake, get back!” John panics, yanking his friend away.

“Very gooooood,” Moriarty croons, righting you before his hand snakes around your waist again.

Fuck you’re so lucky you haven’t eaten because you may have just thrown up in sheer fright then. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“What do you want?” Sherlock tries. “You must want something in return for her.”

High pitched laughter escapes Moriarty’s mouth, “What do I want? What do I WANT? You fucking IDIOT! I just want  _her_.”

“Well she doesn’t want you!” John yells back.

Moriarty scoffs to himself before turning to you again and placing his hand gently along your cheek, thumb tracing over your lips, “Mina, do you trust me?”

Your eyes flicker to Sherlock who’s frustrated beyond belief that he can’t act and then to John…John who’s so hopeful you’ve not completely given up on morality. Then your gaze goes to Moriarty…

Tenderness, obsession, adoration.

“Mina, if you do this now there will be no going back,” Sherlock says desperately. “You’ll be on the run forever. Is that what you want? Don’t give John another friend to mourn like he has done during the war. Don’t let Mrs Hudson down because you’re the only person who ever cared to ask her how she was because I’m a bloody selfish bastard. Don’t throw away your life for him.”

You note he never once made a mention of himself. He went straight for the guilt trip, hoping it would shock you into behaving how he wants you to.

_If only you’d said a reason why_ you _wanted me to come back. I might have believed it then._

“I trust you,” you tell Moriarty who smiles uncharacteristically gently at you.

“Oh but you are divine,” he beams before kissing you in full view of Sherlock and John. “Now fall with me, my love.”

With his arms around you, he overbalances, pulling you off the side of the building, falling into nothingness together with John’s screams echoing around your mind.

“MINA!”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the fall that kills you....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

Sherlock saw it before it happened. The minute change in body language; the shift of weight onto the back foot; the surreptitious glance down to the ground below.

_He’s going to jump and take her with him._

He so desperately tried to appeal to your sense of goodness because he knew it lurked somewhere in there still. You may have committed petty theft, (he did overhear a woman fuss about getting her purse pinched), but you would never,  _never_  stoop to Moriarty’s level of malefaction. That, he was definitely sure of. You were  _good_.

You had to be.   

Except he had a slip up and admittedly a rare one. He could see your face change from hope to disappointment. He’d forgotten to appeal to you personally.

And how could he? How could he express the words he wanted to, when his rival was right there? The source of his obsession? How could he tell you that he found you equally as fascinating, but he was afraid? He had only experienced this kind of feeling once before…with The Woman. It was a feeling of admiration mixed with trepidation because he didn’t trust you.

He didn’t trust you and yet he saw exactly what Moriarty saw in you.

The thought  _had_  crossed his mind to take that for himself, back in Baker Street, but his self destructive streak had overruled. He would never know exactly what made you tick, what made you cut to the very core of him and dispense with the petty bullshit of his world.  
  
He looked up to Moriarty’s face and saw for a millisecond, the expression of gloating.   
 _  
Moriarty’s played us both from the start, Mina. His game with me is not over yet.  
_  
He knew. That conniving bastard knew Sherlock was getting attached-well….attached was too strong of a word. Maybe fond? Fond of you. He knew exactly what to say to rile Sherlock up in the warehouse, painting a graphic picture of what had happened in the car.  
  
Then Moriarty was kissing you, and Sherlock could see both the excitement and the absolute fear on your face. You wanted Moriarty, but you didn’t want to declare that to the world. He’d just forced you to.  
  
 _I see what you’re doing._

Cool, calculating calm settled into him. Something icy, something bitter took hold in the withering glare he gave Moriarty.   
  
 _I see **exactly** what you’re doing._

It was a classic cult trick. Insinuate yourself into someone’s life and then cut them off from their support network. By denouncing him and John, Moriarty was isolating you.

Sherlock moved towards the edge, glimpsing the tiny wink Moriarty shot him as he leaned off the roof, taking you with him.

Sherlock wasn’t quick enough to catch you.  
  
He quickly sunk to his knees, looking over the precipice. He didn’t know if he expected to see splattered bodies or the two of you safely on the ground.

He didn’t expect to see nothing.

One quick assessment at the gravel in the garden and the edge of what looked like fabric just under his eyeline, and he deduced the fall. Someone had been underneath with a canopy to catch you; you were now back in the building.

“John, we’ve got to go,” he says sharply.  
  
“But…she fell,” John mutters disheartened.

“They’re not dead. There’s still time,” Sherlock starts moving towards the door.

“She made her choice, Sherlock,” John puts his hands on his head, huffing loudly. “He got to her. She’s his now. I can’t believe it. Not her, not Mina.”

“John, for god’s sake pull yourself together,” Sherlock barks. “She’s not lost until the  _game_ is lost. Now come on.”

He grabbed his friend, pulling him by the helm of his coat sleeve towards the stairs, flying down them as fast as he could.

The game was still on and it was nearing the final showdown. Sherlock would not lose.

 

**

 

You hit the stretched out canvas, knocking against Moriarty’s hard build in a horribly, painful manner as you rolled into the middle.

Then you were wrenched to your feet before being carried into the archway leading back into the building, thrown over somebody’s shoulder.

“Conrad?!”

“Evening, Mina,” Conrad grunts, placing you down on the flagstones. “Couldn’t have you running on gravel.”

“No, it would slow her down,” Moriarty adjusts his cuffs next to you. “Well trusted, Mina. Didn’t you just  _love_  that?”

“I…” you try,  but all the adrenaline makes you shake.

“Come onnnnnn,” Moriarty gathers you in his arms, pushing back a lock of your hair that’s splayed across your face. “Did you think I’d let you die? I told you I didn’t want to any more.”

“And you always have a plan,” you finish.

“Exactly!” he giggles. “Wasn’t it just  _brilliant_?!” 

“Boss, police are sweeping the building,” Conrad cuts in, listening to a police radio through comms attached to his ear.

“Time to go,” Moriarty chirrups, his eyes practically glistening with mania. “Party’s over, Mina.”

He grabs you, producing a knife and bending to slash stripes through your dress before wrenching the bottom apart. Every now and then you’ll catch a moan as he unveils more and more of your skin until he’s turned it into some sort of mini dress.  
  
“And now you can run, because I’m  _not_  carrying you to safety,” he quirks up an eyebrow. “So let’s go.”  
  
You flee with him, looking back every now and then, wondering if John and Sherlock will come after you…although why would they now? You’d chosen a side and they had no reason to chase you any more.  
  
You rushed to a side entrance of the complex, but it was locked. Conrad nimbly clambered to the top and over, running to the car that was parked up nearby.

“This is where we part,” Moriarty grabs you by the nape of your neck, his gaze intense.

Panic floods you. “What? Am I not coming with you?”

“No, my little queen,” he moves his mouth close to yours, ghosting his lips across your skin. “I asked you to trust me. Do you still trust me? Tell me you still trust me.” His eyes bore into yours, expectantly.

He jerks your head back so your throat is exposed to him before his rakes his teeth across it, kissing harshly under your jawline.  
  
“TELL ME!” He bellows, clearly frustrated at your unresponsiveness.

“I trust you. I told you that,” you twist out of his grip, pushing him backwards towards the gate. “So go. I assume you have some plan that involves me being captured.”

“Clever girl,” he purrs, obviously pleased at your deduction.

“Oh and, Jim?” he turns back around to get the woman’s purse thrown at his face. He fumbles for a second before catching it. “Make some use of that. Wouldn’t want my effort to go to waste.”

“God you are  _glorious_ ,” he laughs before walking back up to you, grabbing you roughly by the waist and kissing you passionately. “We are a team, Mina. You’ve made me so  _happy_. Be a good little girl now and I’ll pick you up when the time is right.”

He makes to leave but you yank him back quickly, kissing him again and down his neck where you bite him harshly, in the juncture between his shoulder and collarbone.

“So you remember me,” you start walking away, back to the building.

“As if I could forget,” he quipped. “I would never forget you, my little Mina.”

With that, he scaled the gate and got into the waiting car.

You went and hid in a dais away from the path of the CCTV cameras, before using a rock to create scrapes across your legs so it looked like Moriarty had haphazardly hacked at your clothing. You also ripped your sleeves and dirtied yourself up a little. The police didn’t need to know you went willingly, even if John and Sherlock knew.

You deliberately walked back across the gravel, getting pointed stones stuck between your toes as you hobbled back into the main ballroom. There, you pushed your way through the crowd that still had no idea what was going on until you reached Lestrade, Sherlock, and John who had congregated in the centre, giving orders to the officers around.

From there, your legs finally gave out and you sank onto the floor, collapsing in an inelegant heap.

“Mina!” John’s footsteps drew closer.

It was like he was hesitant to touch you but gave in after much deliberation, turning you over onto your back. The adrenaline of your fall had caught up with you and you were shaking again.

“Why did you do it?” John whispers whilst he’s checking you over. “Why did you do that?”

“Because he would’ve killed me otherwise,” you tell him. “Because it keeps him away from you two.”

“We never asked you to do that, you stupid girl.” John frowns. “I told you we’d come and save you. You don’t need to martyr yourself.”

“Yes I do,” tears start leaking down your cheeks. “Because he won’t ever stop otherwise.”

“Oh Mina,” John sighs, looking pained before helping you stand upright. 

You feel another set of hands under your free arm and then a whisper at your ear.

“I know you almost gave in to him. He told me as much,” Sherlock states bluntly.

“So what now?” your eyes meet his sharp blue ones and you see he’s not deceived by your act in the slightest.

“Now….now I apologise,” Sherlock casts his eyes downwards. “I never said why it would upset  _me_  if you chose him.”

You’re a little taken aback. You didn’t expect someone as selfish as Sherlock to apologise of his own accord. You wait for him to continue, your silence the only cue. He seemed hesitant to say anything else but Greg Lestrade approaches behind you, snapping cool metal cuffs on your wrists and you suddenly weren’t interested in Sherlock’s apology any more.

“What’s going on?”  you ask, wild eyed.

“It has to be this way,” Sherlock steps back apologetically. “It’s due process.”

“But-”

Oh that bastard.

“Mina Pevensey, you’re under arrest for theft. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mentioned when questioned, something you later rely on in court,” Greg sighs as he restrains you, repeating the standard arrest warnings.

“You’re on camera, Mina,” John says quietly.

“Help me.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

“I’ll visit you,” Sherlock crosses his hands behind his back stoically. “I’ve got something to divulge to you but now is not the time.”

“It has to be this way, Mina,” John joins his side. “There are consequences for every choice.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can offer before you’re dragged out to a police car.

  
  


**  
  
  
  
You stared at the ceiling of the custody cell, the standard issue clothing a lot comfier than your corseted dress.

You wondered how this fit into Moriarty’s plan; you getting a criminal record that is. Surely it had to mean something right? This wasn’t just a giant swerve, now that he knew you were willing to jump off a building with him, right? He hadn’t lost interest…..right?

You’d lay there for hours, or at least it felt like it. There was nothing to do and you were just left with your own increasingly anxious thoughts that got nastier and nastier.

You were doubting he’d ever come back now.

A knock came outside the door, “Pevensey, get up. You’ve got visitors.”  
  
You lazily stand up, waiting for the door to open before dutifully following the officer into the interview room until…  
  
Oh fuck. Your parents.

“Wilhelmina,” your dad starts, sighing heavily and pushing his glasses back up his nose. “How did this happen?”

“I thought we raised you better than this,” your mother sighs, giving you that disappointed and patronising expression she‘s always used. “Getting arrested? I mean…all the women at the Ladies’ Circle…what will they say?”

“I don’t give a shit,” you answer bluntly and see them both recoil at the swear word. “I don’t give two living shits what your country club harpies think about me.”

“Enough of that,” your mother snaps.

“No,  _not_  enough of that. All you care about is how I impact your reputation. You don't care about  _me_. You’re only here to give lip service.”

“That’s not true, Wilhelmina,” your dad shakes his head.

“It’s Mina.” you say harshly.

“ _Mina_ ,” your dad corrects himself. “ _Of course_  we care about you. We were so proud when you got that promotion remember?"

“So I’m just valued on my achievements?” you scoff. “You’re not helping. Just go.”

“And  _you’re_  not helping by running around with a murderer,” your mum hisses.

“He was acquitted,” your snarl was nothing short of feral. “Not a murderer.”

“He’s a  _criminal_ , Wilhelmina. Could you not have lain down for that nice doctor with the blog at least?”

“Why? So you could brag about it to the ladies? ‘Oh my daughter, she’s dating a doctor do you know? He fought in a war. He’s ever so brave. She’s done so well to get someone of his station’,” you mock.

From the flash of indignation on her face, you knew your assessment was right. She’d never wanted a daughter, she’d just wanted a trophy to parade around. Just her bad luck that she didn’t have more children she could try and groom for high society.

“Don’t speak to your mother that way,” your father gets angry.

“I’ll speak how I please.”

“You’re an embarrassment to this family!” he roars back.

“Then cut me off!” you try to stand but the chains attached to the end of the table don’t let you fully extend. “Pretend that I don’t exist; adopt some orphan and brag about how charitable you are! I don’t give a flying fuck any more!”

Your mother bursts into horrendous wails of tears that just set your teeth on edge. You know she’s hamming it up, trying to make you feel guilty but it does the opposite.  
  
“Look what you’ve done!” your dad spared an accusatory glance in your direction before consoling her.

“Just get out,” you say quietly, losing your strength and tolerance.

“Wilhelmina-”

“GET OUT!” you scream, prompting Greg to come running in.

“What’s going on?” he looks wildly from them to you.

“I don’t want them here, take them away,” you vaguely motion towards your parents.

“Come on then,” Greg sighs, clearly bored of the sheer drama. “Mr and Mrs Pevensey, let’s go.”

Your mother turns, her cheeks now suspiciously clear of tears, “You’re no child of mine.”

“Good,” you spit. “I didn’t want your wretched last name anyway.”

Greg hurries them out before more words can be exchanged, before coming back in and sitting on the edge of the table, “What the bloody hell was all that about?”

“My family have never liked me,” you sigh, sitting back down. “They’re only here to play up for the cameras now that I’m all over the national news.”

“Family is important, Mina,” he says softly.

“When they treat me as a stepping stone to high society, no they aren’t. I was a commodity, not a daughter.”

“Really?” He pulls a face. “Then I don’t blame you. Still, can’t be nice for them seeing their daughter with a notorious criminal mastermind.”

“I think they only care about how it affects their reputation. The only people who ever cared are John, Mrs Hudson and…”

Did Sherlock care? Probably not. You were an annoyance to him, a rival for Moriarty’s attention.

“Look, I know this is all scary for you,” Greg smiles sympathetically. “Normally I wouldn’t have arrested you since you have a spotless record. A caution would’ve done it but we needed to get you away from Moriarty.”

“I know,” you say demurely. “I know you did this to protect me.”  
  
But in truth you felt caged. You were on edge all the time, wondering if Moriarty would come back for you; you loathed having to play the meek person you once were. You now knew how he felt, that kind of restless energy that needed so desperately to burst forth in some way.

“Sherlock’s outside,” Greg says. “Want me to tell him to go away as well?”

“No, no he can come,” you nod.

You were curious what Sherlock wanted to say to you anyway. It must be something important if it had to wait.

When Sherlock comes in, Greg uncuffs you, knowing you won’t do anything to harm him or yourself. Sherlock opts to stay near the door though, arms folded neatly behind his back.  
  
“Mina,” he looks at you, assessing.

“Sherlock.”

“You look like a lion in a zoo,” he purses his lips. “That sort of entrapped rage. Has he really gotten that far into your head?”

“You said you wanted to divulge something to me,” you cut in, not answering his question.

“Yes,” his eyes shift downward momentarily. “An apology.”

“Excuse me?”

“An apology. I said the wrong thing on the roof and that’s a rather big thing for me to admit,” he leaves a pause. “Well I’m happy you’re not needling me about that one, so I’ll continue. I should’ve said if you make that choice that it would…disappoint me. I see what he sees in you. You’re remarkable because you’re unremarkable.”

“I’m sure this was supposed to be uplifting rather than insulting,” you raise an eyebrow.

“Try to keep up,” Sherlock can’t resist saying. “I’m saying you have an intelligence that he and I lack. A common sense and an emotional intelligence. I find it fascinating…and terrifying. You see me as no one else does. Mina….it’s still not too late. Come back to us, come back to Baker Street. You made one choice but your game is not over. You show such promise with my line of work. Come back.”

“I at least know you’re being sincere because you didn’t try guilt tripping me this time,” you fix him with a shrewd stare and he fidgets a little. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

He surprised you by suddenly coming up close, towering over you so you have to crane your neck upwards to meet his eyes.

“ _I_  want you to come back,” he says clearly.

In truth, you weren’t expecting this. It had been so easy on that rooftop to make the decision. So easy to pick Moriarty when you were in his presence but now…

You still loved the consulting criminal but you were under no illusion what he was. He’d left you to get arrested and you didn’t know why. He’d left you in this place for two days and was he ever coming back?  
  
“I’ll think about it,” you say quietly. “That’s all the answer I can give you.”

“I understand,” Sherlock nods. “I realise it might have been difficult and I realise your feelings are very firmly entangled with Moriarty. Just know that I want you to come back to Baker Street and…”

“And what?” you push, watching his ever uncomfortable stance.

“I….. _like_  having you around,” he grimaces, as if saying the words were causing him great pain.

“I would’ve liked being around you more if you weren’t such an arse to me,” you snort.

“Yes, well….at least I know you have good mental fortitude,” He looks at the door rather than meet your gaze. “You should be celebrating. I only like two people in this world and neither of them I’m related to.”

“And there’s the Sherlock I know,” you smirk. “Derogatory and condescending. Just like old times.”

He blusters for a second before realising you’re joking and he narrows his eyes before a tiny smile tugs at his lips. “Very good, Mina. I’ll come back tomorrow with John. He wants to see you.”

“I’d like to see him. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sherlock gets to the door before turning around, one hand on the handle, “I hope you’ll have an answer for us. It’s not the same staring at an empty sofa. I miss the morning insults.” With that he leaves.

In the interim before Greg comes back, your eye is drawn to movement. There’s a camera in the corner of the room, an old fashioned one. You watch as it swivels from side to side. Then it goes up and down before going side to side again. You hold up a hand and wave to it and watch as the camera moves in tandem.  
  
Then the internal intercom crackles to life, “One more night, little Mina. Oh I hope you’ve missed me.”

 

He’d been watching you the whole time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 72 hours in custody and no sign of Moriarty. Has he abandoned you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings  
> (Possible proof reading errors)  
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

 

When was he coming?

You were pacing your custody cell in an unhealthy way, unable to properly rest. Moriarty had said it'd be one more night but you were still here.

Maybe he'd lied? Maybe he was angry you were talking to Sherlock? What the hell would you do if he just left you here?

“Pevensey, visitors,” comes the knock at the door.

That must be John and Sherlock. They said they would come see you today. At least it would be a distraction for you.

You followed the custody officer out to the interrogation room where both men stood, deep in conversation. Upon seeing you they abruptly cut off.

“Mina,” John comes up to hug you and you do your best to hug him back in the cuffs you have on.

“Get those off her,” Sherlock nods to the guard. “Now.”

“Can't. There are proc-”

“Yes I know there are procedures,” Sherlock tuts dismissively. “I really don't think an accountant is going to assault me. I'm trained in many martial arts. I can quite happily defend myself.”

“She's assaulted your brother. He filed charges a day ago.”

“He...what?” you blink.

“Oh wonderful,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I can't believe Mycroft is willing to go on record that someone hit him. I would've thought his pride was too great for that.”

Greg's voice comes through the intercom, “We persuaded him to drop them, don't worry Mina. It's alright Kath, take the cuffs off.”

Kath does as Greg asks before leaving you alone with John and Sherlock.

“How have you been?” John asks, a look of concern plastered all over his face. “You look thin. Are they feeding you enough?”

“I've not been hungry,” you smile faintly. “Being arrested kills the appetite.”

“Don't mother her, John. She's fine,” Sherlock shakes his head.

“Be quiet, Sherlock,” John scowls before turning back to you. “Mrs Hudson asked me to tell you that she's missing you.”

“I miss her too,” you stare at the floor.

“Would you really have gone with Moriarty?”

There was the poignant question. Explaining yourself to Sherlock was easy because he knew the kind of influence Moriarty had over people. He understood. John....not so much. To John, Moriarty was the archetypal cartoon villain, a nemesis. He didn't get the underlying layers, how messy the whole thing was.

“To keep everyone safe, yes,” you say finally, catching Sherlock's eye and knowing he knew you were embellishing the truth.

“We're perfectly safe. You didn't need to do that.”

“You weren't safe. Moriarty could've come in at any time and taken me. He could've killed you all. I'm the only thing stopping him from doing that. I couldn't bear the thought if he broke in and killed Mrs Hudson, if he killed either of you.....you're my friends.”

John softens at that proclamation. That was most definitely  _not_ the bent truth. You did consider John and Mrs Hudson your friends...and to a lesser extent Sherlock, although he'd been a lot more likeable recently, you’d give him that.

“Why do you think you need to carry this burden alone? We're here for you. We're trying to help you,” John takes you by the shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

“And I'm trying to help  _you_. Can you not understand that?”

“I can but I don't have to like it,” John grumbles. “He made you do things, he made you a criminal.”

“I know and he left me here to face that alone.”

The real sadness bleeds through now and Sherlock steps in.

“John, would you give me a moment alone with her?”

“As long as you don't send her into a flying rage like you usually do, sure,” John fixes him with a warning stare. “She doesn't need to get into any more trouble.”

“Would I do that?” Sherlock asks faux innocently, watching his friend walk out of the door and then turning to you.

“You're disappointed.”

“No point lying to you is there?”

“Not really, so spit it out.”

“He said he'd come for me and yet here I still am. My seventy two hours is nearly up.”

Sherlock sighs before perching on the table, his hands folded in front of him, “You need to make a decision Mina. Come back to Baker Street but do it because it's your choice, not because it's the only option you have, not because Moriarty hasn't come back for you.”

“I know. It's just hard when he's been so ingrained in my life to break away.”

“I'll help you.”

You look at Sherlock in complete surprise. He'd just said  _he'd_  help you, not that him  _and_  John would. Had you mistaken his brashness, his standoffishness all these weeks? Did he actually care about you like he'd said yesterday...well not in so many words but Sherlock never said anything so blatant about his feelings.

“Why?”

“Mina, I told you already. Don't make me repeat myself,” he frowns.  “So I'll say this. When the time comes for your release in six hours, I'll be waiting outside in a car. If you choose to get into the car, I'll take you back to Baker Street and we'll keep you away from Moriarty. If you choose to walk off by yourself, then I know your feelings for him are too strong and nothing I can say can change it. Is that a fair choice?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Gives me time to think.”

“Excellent. Shall I bring John back in? I'm sure he's got some other mundane things to witter on about with you.”

“Bring him back in.”

  
  


**

  
  


Being around Sherlock and John again had reminded you a little of the person you used to be.

You would never go back to being mild mannered and meek but it was nice just to take a breath and remember you didn't need to be on edge every second of the day. Nothing was going to harm you, no one was going to have an outburst. You could just....relax.

You even started laughing when John recounted how Mrs Hudson had battered Sherlock with a rolled up copy of Heat magazine for derailing the trial. You hadn't laughed in a while now.

The time came that they had to leave and John hugged you tightly for a longer time than was necessary. You weren't sure if he was aware of what you and Sherlock had talked about but it felt like he was trying to remind you that you were loved.

“I have work to get to but I will see you soon, yeah?” he looks so optimistic again, more so than when you were on the roof.

“Be safe,” you answer cagily, not giving anything away.

“Five o' clock, Mina,” Sherlock says curtly before walking out, leaving you to be put back in your cell.

Time passed incredibly slowly as you were deliberating what to do.

If you left on your own, you had no guarantee that Moriarty would come for you. After all, he'd said you'd spend one more night in the custody cells and he still hadn't given any indication you would be broken out or collected. There was no movement of the CCTV cameras, no intercom messages...nothing.

Just silence.

If you left with Sherlock, there was the possibility Moriarty might come for you and he would be pissed off you chose to leave him. He'd made it clear you should never do so. In fact, he implied he'd kill you if you did.

What the fuck should you do?

Was it better to go with the devil you knew or to try and hide with your friends and hope he'd never find you?

“Pevensey, time to check out,” comes the knock at the door.

You're startled and bolt upright on your bed. Had six hours passed already? Shit shit shit, you hadn't made a decision yet!

You do the necessary paperwork and they give you clothes to change into rather than the regulation grey sweatshirt and jogging pants. You feel a little more human after that.

As you stumbled out into the harsh light of a London summer, your legs are shaking as you move out towards the street, not exactly knowing what you're going to do.

You look around yourself spotting Sherlock waiting inside a black cab and you surprise yourself that you're walking towards him. It could mean certain death for you and you're still doing it. But why?

You get into the cab and Sherlock turns to you before you see something that shocks you. He's smiling. He's  _genuinely_ smiling.

“Hello Mina,” he says before turning back to the driver. “221B Baker Street please. 

There’s a pause before he strikes up conversation with you again.  
  
“I'm glad you chose us. Mrs Hudson will be beside herself. She'll bring those luxury biscuits up again.”

“Well I'm glad I can keep you well fed,” you settle into the barbed teasing as if it were yesterday.

“If John will insist on getting inferior food,” Sherlock rolls his eyes before turning to you, his expression serious. “Mina, I'm....I'm proud of you. I watched you as you came out and you didn't hesitate. Your subconscious knew what to do.”

“I'm afraid,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

You're driving in relative silence now, mulling over your choice, wondering if it was the right thing to do and torturing yourself with this feeling of abandonment you had. You weren't sure if you felt like Moriarty had abandoned you or you'd abandoned him.

You just wish you could just be completely sure of yourself.

  
  


**

 

Sherlock was watching the myriad of emotions on your face and analysing each one of them.

You weren't sure about your choice, that was certain. You were also afraid for your life but there was some part of you that longed for the normalcy of Baker Street, the people you could confide in and the long evenings of joking around.

He'd never seen a person so conflicted before and it fascinated him.

What also fascinated him was the fact that you'd chosen Baker Street over Moriarty. Up until you walked out into the street, he was sure you would return to the consulting criminal. Love, after all, was a powerful motivator, no matter how unworthy the other person was.

Perhaps your feelings weren't that strong after all. Perhaps you could still be dissuaded from truly falling under Moriarty's spell. You'd not completed your game and that meant there was hope.

You were staring at him now and it was catching him off guard. Was he meant to be saying something? Did he have something on his face?

“What?” he can't help but say, slightly harshly. “You're staring.”

“Sorry,” you look away and now all Sherlock wants is for you to have continued. He shouldn't have said anything at all.

“What is it?” he tries, a softer approach this time.

“I wish you'd been this nice when I originally came.”

He tries not to blink, tries not to react. Perhaps all of his initial efforts to root you out as an insider, a double agent had steered you more towards Moriarty in the first place. John had often said he could be caustic towards newcomers. He'd made a mistake with you.

“Oh, I'm nice am I?” he quirks up an eyebrow.

“Don't let it go to your head,” you fold your arms, staring at the floor.

“I already have a high enough opinion of myself, so everyone says,” Sherlock counters.

Then you're laughing again and he's horrified to note that he's staring at the way your eyes are crinkling, the way your lips curve into a grin, the shy little movement of you tucking your hair behind your ear. Why was he noticing this? He'd never done this before. He'd never just appreciated someone's features for the sake of it rather than processing it as background information.

“You can be funny when you want to,” you smile. “Please don't go back to treating me how you did when we get back. I don't...”

“I won't,” he says assuredly. “I think I can see where your intentions lie now.”

“Promise me?”

Now he's turned to you fully and he hesitantly reaches out for your hand before squeezing it for affirmation, “I promise. I will just be the normal odious me that even John hates sometimes.”

You nod quietly and Sherlock fully expects you to remove your hand but you don't. You probably needed a lot of reassurance given the big choice you just made.

He's still cataloguing your features and he catches the micro-movement of your lips parting which throws up the memory of his experimental kiss. Was he that sure he'd done it for an experiment now or was he just acting out his subconscious desire? He'd been a lot more clear on his actions back when he was sure you were completely Moriarty's thrall.

“Mina, I'd like to say something,” he starts, thrilled and terrified that he was about to speak his mind with no filter, no pre-determined thought pattern...just how a regular person would.

“What is it?”

He never gets to say.

He watches your eyes flick to the window and then widen in fear. He just manages to turn his head and see the blast as someone fires an RPG right in front of the cab.

 

**

 

You see it coming. You see the man in a balaclava raise the RPG launcher before firing it.

The next thing you knew, the cab was thrown forwards, tumbling in great metallic screeches along the road. Your hair was whipping your face as you were rolling, the seatbelt biting into your skin as it held you in place.

You were too shocked to scream.

When at last the cab came to a stand still, you were hanging upside down, your skin stinging where the shards of glass has swiped you as the windows blew out. You tried to unclip your seatbelt but it was completely jammed.

“Sherlock?” you call out but he's nowhere to be seen.

Shit, he never wears a seatbelt.

You spotted him about a few yards away, having been thrown clear of the taxi and he was struggling to get to his feet. At least he was alive.

The driver was very obviously dead. His neck was lolling in a very unnatural way and all of his limbs were lax.

“Shit,” you hiss to yourself, trying to wrench the buckle apart, anything to free yourself.

Then you see the flames.

Flames were starting to creep into the passenger side door, licking at the chair. Smoke was pouring in and starting to obscure the roof. You couldn't see and all you could feel was this cloying heat that was making your lungs burn.

“Help!” you call out, struggling with the seatbelt. “HELP ME!”

You knew you didn't have long left before the flames reached the fuel tank and then...

“HELP ME! PLEASE!”

You get frantic, squirming and trying to push yourself out of the belts by bracing your feet on the sides of the cab. You manage to get your thighs clear but it's cutting into your waist, determined not to let you go.

You're convinced you're going to die.

Panic mode sets in and you're tearing at the seat, trying to extract yourself. The flames are coming into your side of the cab now and you have minutes left before you're roasted alive.

“Mina!” Sherlock climbs through the shattered window.

“I'm stuck and the flames are almost near the tank!” you call out the relevant information, hoping he'll be quick enough to process it.

You feel his hands grip your seatbelt before there's rhythmic sawing and you can see the glint of steel working. Thank god he always carries his pocket knife. This was a much better use than on the apples he kept eating.

“You're going to drop. Brace yourself,” he says, stopping for a second before carrying on.

You hit the floor with a thud, cheek first onto stray glass and you cry out. You don't think it's punctured the skin but the sensation was horrible.

Then you're being dragged out, Sherlock's arms underneath yours, crossed over your chest as he pulls you free of the taxi.

“Are you alright?” he says breathlessly, looking around himself for any further danger.

“We have to move!” you shout, grabbing his hand and running for the opposite side of the street.

You make it about twenty paces and then the cab explodes into a fireball. The shockwave hits your back, throwing you to the ground where Sherlock lands on top of you, shielding you with his body as debris rains down with heavy clunks.

Amidst all the chaos, you see  _him_.

The man with the RPG launcher. He's standing near a cafe, the weapon long since discarded and he takes off his balaclava.

It's Moriarty.

He gives you a wink, puts his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and points to some graffiti on the wall next to him before casually sauntering away, getting lost in the burgeoning crowds.

You look at the wall and your heart stops.

_**NOT YET.** _

And on the wall next to that.

_**DID YOU MISS ME?** _


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack, Sherlock tries to keep you safe at Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> \- TLP xx

You didn’t expect to be back at the police station quite so soon but at least you were on the right side of the table this time.

You and Sherlock gave your statement to Greg about what had happened. There was no point trying to conceal who had done it, it was written on the fucking wall for anyone to see.

When it was over, you got an armoured convoy back to Baker Street but you were completely on edge the whole time. Your leg was just bouncing up and down as you scanned out of the windows, afraid Moriarty would be waiting again.

“Mina, calm down,” Sherlock says softly, placing his hand on your thigh to stop you shaking it. “If he wanted you dead he would’ve been more direct. This was a message.”

“And what message is it supposed to send?” you continue to look out, scanning a row of shops.

“My best estimate is that he’s reminding you he’s still out there. ‘Not yet’….does that mean something to you?”

“He said he’d get me when the time was right,” you answer dully.

There was no point lying to Sherlock. He always knew.

“Ah,” Sherlock sighs heavily. “Look, I’m not going to let him get you, Mina. I promised you that.”

“Because that worked out so well just now,” you finally turn to look at him and note that he seems a bit crestfallen for a microsecond. “I told you he could get me anywhere. I don’t even know why I chose Baker Street when I knew he’d kill me for the choice.”

“He wouldn’t kill you. You fascinate him too much. If he was going to kill you, it’d be intimate and personal.”

“He fired an RPG at the taxi and I nearly died,” you say angrily. “If you’d been a minute slower I’d be embers by now.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says quietly. “If you wish to return to him, do so now.”

You just look at him in surprise. He’d fought so hard to get you to come back and now he was encouraging you to go? Maybe he was finally getting that Moriarty would never let you leave, that everyone was in danger with you around.

“But I can’t deny it wouldn’t make me….oh good lord, I can’t believe I’m saying this. It’s ridiculous. It’d make me….sad,” Sherlock stares at the floor for a time whilst you process it. “For God’s sake, say something. This silence is odious.”

“I’m just surprised,” you blink. “And I’ve made my choice now. I can’t let him frighten me. If I know Moriarty, this was a giant cry for attention because I’m not giving him any.”

“You mean he’s jealous?” Sherlock denotes. “He  _is_  run by his emotions.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m shacking up with you,” you shrug. “I don’t think he likes any male coming near me, let alone an intellectual rival.”

There’s the strangest twitch at the corner of Sherlock’s lips but it’s gone as fast as you saw it. Then again, you were still mildly in shock. You could be imagining anything.

“It might not be a bad idea to let him think that at some point if we need to draw him out,” Sherlock muses. “He is a suspect again.”

“Like a trap, you mean? No. I don’t trust him not to blow the entirety of Baker Street up if he thought we were an item just for the off chance that it might kill you.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me?” Sherlock smirks.

“Don’t push it,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve still got a lot of making up to do for your behaviour.”

Sherlock chuckles to himself, “I said I was sorry, that’s the end of it. I’m not making you tea, you have two perfectly good hands for that yourself.”

“Selfish git,” you roll your eyes. “One of these days you’ll make your own brews rather than relying on Mrs Hudson and her good nature.”

“One of these days,” Sherlock nods. “But not today. You’ll see why soon.”

  
  


**

  
  


You reached Baker Street in one piece and, as soon as you opened the car door, armed police escorted you the several feet to the door where you rushed in, Sherlock not far behind you.

“Mina!” comes a familiar voice that was bursting with happiness until Mrs Hudson drew eye level and saw the cuts on your face. “Oh my god, what happened?! Sherlock?! You were supposed to bring her home safely!”

If ever there was a sight that would stick in your memory, it was Mrs Hudson grabbing an umbrella from the hat stand and whacking Sherlock around the back with it.

“You utterly useless man!” she wails. “You made a ruddy promise, Sherlock Holmes!”

“Control yourself!” Sherlock grips the umbrella before wrenching it away. “I was hurt too.”

“Oh boohoo,” Mrs Hudson puts her hands on her hips. “You get blown up all the time. Goodness me, this is a three biscuit problem. I’ll put the kettle on.”

She bustles away, leaving you in a state of wanting to laugh and also wanting to make sure Sherlock was alright.

“So much sympathy, huh?” you smile wryly.

“Don’t gloat,” Sherlock scowls at you. “Gloating is not a nice expression on your face.”

“It’s rare I get to do it so shut up,” you poke your tongue out.

“Childish,” he shakes his head but he slightly smiles all the same. “Now get upstairs. I need to show you something.”

“Still so bossy,” you roll your eyes before going up the stairs.

“Turn left,” he says.

“But that’s just stairs to the blocked off flat, right?”

“Just go up the stairs, Mina and up again.”

You shoot him a look before going up and noting the door, 221 with the A scratched out. From all accounts, Mrs Hudson had told you she used to have tenants in there before they grew cannabis plants, ripping up the carpet to plant soil down. It had ruined the floorboards and she’d never been able to rent it again after that. She’d closed it off and made her flat 221A instead.

She’d also had a horrible damp problem with 221C in the basement too. Mrs Hudson was lucky she didn’t need to rely on the rent to keep going.

“Open the door,” Sherlock nods.

So you did and you actually gasped. You’d seen this room once before with its rotten flooring and the painted on walls with slogans like '4:20 blaze it’ and 'ganja master’ but now it was pristine. There were soft rolls of carpet down, the walls were painted a gentle duck egg blue, there was plush furniture dotting around the living room and you could even see a little reading corner.

“Hold your praise, why don’t you,” Sherlock says wryly.

“You guys did this?” you look around in surprise.

“We did hope you would come back,” Sherlock sits in one of the chairs. “John figured it was better if you had your own space rather than sleeping on our sofa.”

“I thought he wanted to keep me nearby so if there was an emergency he could get to me quickly?”

Sherlock stiffens a little, “Alright,  _I_  figured it was better. If you’re going to spend a long time here, you need your own place. I know Mrs Hudson would put you up but there was a resource up here being wasted so…I spruced it up.”

“ _You_  did this? You set me up a reading corner?”

“I remember every detail of your flat,” he tents his fingers together. “I recreated some of it here. The bedroom will be tidier though.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff. “Yours is like a nuclear plant in meltdown.”

“Apt,” he shrugs. “I have some uranium in there.”

“Wait, you have radioactive material in your flat?!” you bluster.

“Oh it’s perfectly contained,” he looks out of the window before getting up. “So yes, I wasn’t able to get anything from your old place due to it being destroyed but I hope this will suffice.”

“Destroyed?”

“A fire I’m told.”

“Not a fire, Moriarty,” you fold your arms. “All of my possessions are at his now. I guess he didn’t want anyone poking around my things.”

“Ah.”

“Will I be safe here?” you ask quietly. “Will all of you?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock murmurs. “But I will try my best. Do you trust that I will, Mina?”

“I do,” you say, looking at his face which was shrewd and determined.

“Good.”

He surprises you greatly by walking up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and then leans down, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he steps away.

“I’ll leave you to settle in.”

You’re just standing there bewildered. Sherlock was affectionate with you…like  _genuinely_  affectionate. It wasn’t for an experiment, it just seemed to be something he wanted to do.

Were you finally getting through to him?

You didn’t know but you settled down into your new apartment, wondering why he’d suddenly changed his behaviour so drastically. You didn’t mean to but the chair was so comfy and you were so tired after the events of nearly dying that you just fell asleep, splayed out at an odd angle.

  
  


**

 

Settling into the newly dubbed 221D, you find it a more relaxing environment for dealing with Sherlock.

You still came downstairs every morning for breakfast with Mrs Hudson but now you went back to 221B to read the papers with John and Sherlock, remarking on the crime sections where you’d come up with deductions for fun.

Sherlock still was a little blunt and derogatory but he made an effort to praise you when you did something clever.

You were still on edge all the time about Moriarty but it’d been about six days since the explosion and there was no sign of him. You still kept an eye out on the window whenever there was something like a car backfiring but nothing was happening.

Could he have truly left you alone? That didn’t seem….right. That didn’t seem like him.

It was the seventh day when rocks started tapping on your window in the early dawn. You got up in your little apartment, discarding your book on the coffee table before looking outside. There, on the opposite building are words, words sprayed in giant red letters. They run all along the entire row of terraces in criss-crossing arcs.

 

MISS ME? MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME? MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME? MISS ME?  MISS ME?

 

Greg tightened up security that night and John and Sherlock camped up in your flat, swapping stories of their previous adventures to keep you calm. John was relating his blog post 'A Study In Pink’ whilst Sherlock kept cutting in to give his side of the story which almost always involved him looking clever and John being dim.

The next day, after a grand project to scrub the terraces clean, more words sprung up, this time in purple spray paint.

 

JM & MM JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM  JM & MM

 

“What does MM mean?” John asks, tutting at the poor volunteers who were getting pissed off with their restoration project.

“Mina Moriarty,” Sherlock answers for you. “It’s a display of ownership. It’s the final goal for him. He wanted to break her down enough that she’d be his accomplice.”

“God that’s horrid,” John’s lip curls. “Like assuming a new identity?”

“More or less,” Sherlock nods.

“He said he wants to have me for the rest of his life. He talked about it like a romance novel,” you add.

“And how do you feel about that?” John moves away from the window, sitting down in the squishy chair.

“At first it was….nice, you know. Nice that someone could be that into me, even if I know it wasn’t healthy,” you sigh, swirling the dregs of your tea. “Now….now I’m away from him, I can see how wrong it sounded. I feel like I’m two different people.”

“You don’t need to be,” John leans forward squeezing your arm. “There has to be some middle ground you can reach. We don’t want you to feel like you’re missing anything that you could get from him and can’t from us.”

“Because otherwise I’ll go back, you mean,” you murmur quietly.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers bluntly.

Then silence falls and it starts getting awkward. You’re squirming at the fact they  _both_  are expecting you to run back to Moriarty and that makes you feel like shit. It makes you feel like you can’t control yourself….

But could you?

When you saw his first message, you started imagining he was going to break into your room. The things you did in the small hours of the night, fantasising about that reunion until you were utterly spent….

He was still in your head in a bad way.

It was easy to romanticise your time with him, the rush you felt but you knew it shouldn’t happen. You shouldn’t go back. That’s why you subconsciously walked towards Sherlock.

“Right,” John claps his hands together, eager to dispel the tension. “I need to get to work. Play nice you two.”

As soon as he leaves, Sherlock’s demeanour becomes less like his usual self. It goes more….shy? Was that the right word? He was fidgeting a little, his eyes quickly assessing everything around him over and over again.

“Something up?” you ask.

“ _Would_  you go back to him?” Sherlock asks outright.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “Would you go back to using drugs?”

“That’s….how did you know that?” he seems surprised.

“I worked in a place that moved a lot of money through it. I know drug users when I see them, even recovering ones.”

“You’re more astute than I thought,” he mutters. “And I don’t know either. I don’t know what situation will break my resolve.”

“Well there we go. Same for me.”

“Moriarty is your drug?”

“With him I feel….alive. It feels like a rush of excitement, endorphins. Yeah, I guess he is.”

“And with me?”

That question seems odd for him to ask. It’s too personal, it’s too emotional.

“Are you asking how I feel when I’m around you?”

“Indulge me,” he smirks slightly, going back to his usual mannerisms. “Most of the last month has been comparisons between Moriarty and I.”

You think about it for a moment, “Calm. I feel calm and like I’m not being pushed to my limits all the time. I feel like I can think, like I can just…be me without regressing to some primal version.”

“I’m your order,” he says and your head snaps up at the words Moriarty loves to use. “Chaos and order, right? That’s what he kept saying.”

“How do you-”

“I told you he was still playing a game with me,” Sherlock’s gaze becomes very intense. “He’d send me emails sometimes when you were with him.”

“Show me.”

You barely have time to catch the phone that’s thrown at your face and you fumble with it for a second before starting down a list of emails that only come from an account called JM.

**JM: Tick tock, tick tock.**

**JM: I think she likes me.**

**JM: She definitely likes me.**

**JM: Did you kiss my Mina? ANSWER ME!**

**JM: ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER**

**JM: Two sides of the coin, Sherlock. Chaos and order.**

**JM: Baby, why won’t you answer? I feel so rejected.**

**JM: Don’t you love me any more?**

**JM: Do you love….her?**

**JM: Sherly, sweetheart, she’s mine. Don’t try and take her back.**

**JM: You are order, I am chaos. She wants chaos.**

**JM: I nearly had her. Tell me how that feels.**

**JM: ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER  ANSWER ME!!**

**JM: Cute you think you can hide her from me.**

**JM: Did you enjoy your taxi ride?**

**JM: I’m comiiiiiiiing**

**JM: She’ll always be mine.**

Then as you’re scrolling, another one comes through.

**JM: Hi babe, miss me? I know you’re reading this. You’re still my MM.**

You drop the phone in surprise.

“What is it?” Sherlock asks, not waiting for the reply and grabbing the phone from your lap before reading it. “Bloody hell.”

Then he furiously types back a response, dictating to you as he does so, “I’m not sure I like babe as a pet name. Don’t like MM either. MH sounds good though.”

“Are you  _trying_  to get yourself killed?!” you cry out. “Don’t antagonise him!”

“I can handle it,” Sherlock dismisses. “I’m tired of this game. Now, Mrs Hudson is downstairs, I need to speak to Greg at the station. Will you be alright?”

“Not when you just put a target on your back, no,” you shake your head vehemently. “You’re a stupid cock sometimes. An absolute unit.”

“Well….never been called a unit before,” Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back later with chips. Chips are good.”

He gives you a curt nod before standing up to walk out, “I’ll even get one of those wooden forks so we can be….common. Ta ra.”

He closes the door and you go up to lock it, as per the protocol you’d agreed with John and Sherlock. You absent-mindedly drift towards the window again, wondering what the hell was going on with Sherlock and why his personality seemed to have changed a little…or maybe this is how he was usually when he wasn’t interrogating you or being a general arsehole.

You look at the writing that’s been half scrubbed off, so deep in thought that when you hear a noise behind you, like wood clanging on wood, you leap around in shock, reverting to violence and throwing your mug of tea across the room where he effortlessly dodges it, a grin on his face.

“Miss me?”

Jim Moriarty was in your flat and you had no idea how. The door was still locked, the windows were bolted shut. How?!

There’s footsteps coming up the stairs now and Moriarty rushes at you, pinning you to the wall with one hand over your mouth. A knock at the door sounds and you can hear Mrs Hudson calling for you.

“Mina? Mina, dear, are you alright? I heard a noise and got worried.”

Moriarty leans down to whisper in your ear, “Say one word out of place and I’ll skin her.”

Then he removes his hand and you shout back, “I’m fine, just saw a spider in the bathroom. Dropped my tea.”

“Oh alright, dearie,” she says cheerfully enough. “I’ll leave you to it. Are you coming for dinner later?”

“No, Sherlock’s bringing chips.”

Moriarty looks incredibly incensed but doesn’t say anything, his grip on you just gets tighter.

“Oh wonderful!” Mrs Hudson claps. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. It’s nice to see you all getting along so well. Sherlock’s positively happy.”

And then your hear the footsteps going down the stairs until there’s the faintest sound of a door closing.

“Dinner with Sherlock, is it?” Moriarty says coldly.

“It’s just chips.”

“It’s  _never_  just chips,” he pulls a face. “Are you getting  _fond_  of him, Mina? Do you like Sherlock?”

“How did you get here?”

“Not important,” he shushes you again with his hand. “Point issssssss, I don’t think you’re being loyal little Mina.”

“I haven’t touched him,” you scowl, trying to get the words out around his hand.

“No but I’ve seen him, he’s touched you. He  _kissed_  you on the forehead. Awfully emotional for a man like him, don’t you think?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you snarl, wrenching his hand away and shoving him backwards. “You left me.”

“Did I?” he blinks in astonishment. “I wasn’t aware that popping up most days was leaving you.”

“You nearly killed me!”

“Ah yes…that,” he smirks, hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. “That was just to send a message to Sherlock. Nothing personal.”

“I almost died! I almost got roasted!” your voice is picking up in volume now and your fists are balling up.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he shrugs. “You don’t think I calculated your odds of survival before I did it?”

You launch yourself at him, knocking him over before slamming your fists into his face, his chest, anywhere you can hit. He grabs your arms tightly, bucking you off him before pinning you to the floor.

“Oh my little  _Mina_ ,” he rasps, inhaling the scent of your hair as he leans on top of you. “I knew they hadn’t dampened that rage. You’re furious with me, aren’t you? I can tell. You felt rejected, you felt alone. I told you though, I’d pick you up when the time was right.”

“Get. Off,” you hiss. “I’m not doing this any more. It’s not healthy.”

“Healthy? Oh that’s Sherlock’s words,” Moriarty frowns. “You didn’t think it was unhealthy when you were playing with yourself in the dark and moaning my name out,  _Mina_.”

You blanch, your eyes going wide. The only way he could’ve known that is if he’d been here in Baker Street the entire time. It made sense now you thought about it. How else would he have known you were looking at Sherlock’s phone? How would he have known Sherlock was being affectionate with you?

You headbutt him, eager to get away and he reels back in surprise before you run to the place you have your suspicions about. The inbuilt wardrobe.

Yanking the doors open, you see a small ladder in the corner that ascends to the loft space which you had assumed was closed off. You’re scampering up the ladder before you realise and what you see upstairs makes you audibly gasp.

Instead of the beams and loft insulation you expected, there’s a bed and there’s a mini fridge and even a functioning toilet plumbed into the waterworks. Then there’s the painting, hung above the bed so it seemed like he would face it when he slept.

“What the fuck is going on?” you turn to face him as he’s come up the ladder. “Have you been living above me the whole time?!”

“You sound surprised,” he notes. “I’ve kept tabs on you the entire time you’ve been out of my sight. Did you think I’d stop now?”

“And Conrad’s doing that outside, isn’t he? The graffiti.”

“Actually that’s Banksy,” Moriarty grins. “He owes me a favour. I saved one of his artworks from being painted over by some….youths.”

“You have Banksy working for you? I shouldn’t be shocked any more,” you sigh. “Why, Jim? Why did you leave me in that cell? You said one more night.”

“Did I upset you, my poor little Mina, I  _did_ , didn’t I?” he pouts. “Because you have feelings for me.”

“I thought you had feelings for  _me_  but clearly I was just projecting,” you turn away from him.

Then his hands are around your waist, pulling you back into him whilst he runs kisses up your neck, “Is that what you think? I guess I haven’t been overt enough. Plastering our names on the entirety of Baker Street is not enough of a sign. I need to do something big, OH! I should put our initials on Big Ben, Tower Bridge even!”

“No!” you blurt out, turning around. “I just wanna know why you didn’t come for me.”

“It wasn’t time,” he shrugs. “I told you I have a plan. I don’t rush things. Nice to know you missed me that much though. Your body language is just screaming at me that you want me, that you  _love_ me.”

Before you know what’s happening, he’s pushed you onto the bed and gotten on top of you, settling his body between your legs.

“Do you love me, Mina? Tell me,” he bites at your neck.

You say nothing. You’re trying to calm down your hammering heart, your whirling hormones. God, all Moriarty had to do was show up and you’re right back to where you were. It was so hard to keep yourself in check.

“TELL ME!” he shouts, grabbing your hair and forcing your gaze to his. “Tell me you love me.”

“Why?” you spit back. “Can’t you figure out what I’m thinking?”

“I wanna hear it,” he growls and then his hand is skipping over your breast, harshly kneading whilst he’s mouthing along your collarbone. “Tell me.”

“No,” you say firmly, trying to ignore what he was doing. “You tell  _me_ how  _you_  feel.”

“This is not the end of the game, Mina,” he tuts at you. “Not that easy.”

“Coward.”

Then he’s brutally slamming his lips against yours, a feral noise starting in his chest and you hate yourself that you just melt into it. You’re moving against him, just like you had imagined in your little fantasies only this felt so much better.

“Alright, alright,” he groans loudly. “I will impart a secret to you, my little Mina. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He leans towards your ear and whispers, “I’ve missed you terribly. I’m not whole when you’re away from me, Mina. I need my order and I need my chaos. That’s you. Every time Sherlock goes near you I want to rip his head off. How  _dare_  he touch you, how  _dare_  he lay his lips upon you. You’re mine. I  _need_  you.”

“Make me believe it then,” you challenge him, rolling your hips against him and watching him savage his lip.

“Oh you  _minx_ ,” he purrs. “You  _do_  remember how to play. I was concerned for a moment there.”

He dives on you again, all consuming in his lust for you as his hands start wandering up your top. You notice that every time he’s like this with you, he gets a little bolder, like he’s giving himself permission to test the boundaries.

“Let me have you,” he murmurs as his fingers skip over your ribcage. “God I’ve missed being with you. Let me have you.”

“This is not the end of the game, Jim,” you parrot him.

“You’re right,” he draws back. “You should get back downstairs before Sherlock returns with…chips.”

“And what about you? Are you just staying up here now?”

“It’s not so bad,” he looks around himself. “See how much I’m avoiding luxury to keep an eye on you. Surely that tells you how much I’m obsessed with you? Although listening to you fuck yourself ragged for me is a nice bonus for putting up with this. I hope you’ll do it again tonight.”

He winks before getting up and pulling you to your feet before leaving one last lingering kiss.

“Go on now, Mina.”

You start walking to the ladder, your foot on the first rung when he speaks again.

“Mycroft was right you know. You  _are_  a double agent in Baker Street.”

That statement troubled you greatly and you quickly descended, only for him to pull the ladder up and shut the trapdoor. Then you go out into your flat, sitting on the chair and staring at the ceiling.

Would you ever feel safe in your flat again? Was Moriarty right?

Your conflict was only growing and you didn’t know what you wanted any more.

“Mina, I’m home,” Sherlock raps on the door.

You jump up quickly, going to unlock the door and he holds up a bag where you can smell the contents wafting out.

“Let’s eat in your place tonight,” you suggest, trying to keep your face normal. “I like being by your fire.”

“If you wish,” Sherlock nods and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that you don’t quite understand. “Come along. I’m sure I have some clean plates somewhere.”

You give one last look to the ceiling where you’re sure Moriarty is watching before following Sherlock down to 221B.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You bond more with Sherlock but you’re hyper aware that the consulting criminal is always watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Abusive behaviour, Minor Smut (Yes you read that correct)
> 
> (Proof reading errors likely)
> 
> This is a long ass chapter, happy reading!
> 
> \- TLP xx

You noted Mrs Hudson must have put the fire on whilst Sherlock was out because it was sending great wafts of heat towards you as you entered. She’d also placed a candle on the side table with two glasses either side.

“Really, such a detestable gesture,” Sherlock mutters, catching sight of the table. “It’s chips, not a date.”

“Right?” you say a little bit more enthusiastically than you meant to.

Sherlock just gives you a funny look for a microsecond before going to sit in his favourite armchair. You opt to sit on the floor by the fire which earns even more funny looks.

“What are you doing? The chair is perfectly functional,” he gestures.

“Sometimes I like sitting on the floor,” you shrug, taking the package he offers you and the tiny wooden fork. “Especially in front of a fire. There’s something…I don’t know…nostalgic about it.”

“It reminds you of your childhood,” Sherlock notes before he takes a deep breath and joins you on the floor, shrugging his jacket off.  He experimentally gets himself comfortable before seeming to smile a little. “Not bad.”

“See? I  _do_  have good ideas occasionally,” you laugh. “Thank you for the chips. Did you get done what you needed to at the station?”

“I believe so,” Sherlock stabs at a particularly large chip in his container. “Although hard to tell with Lestrade sometimes. It goes in one ear and out the other. It gets boring being cleverer than other people sometimes.”

“I bet it does,” you raise an eyebrow. “I’ll try not to be offended.”

“You know what I mean, you…ah, I see. Humour. You’re making fun of me,” Sherlock coughs, looking at your wide grin.

“Did you notice?” you say innocently.

Sherlock genuinely laughs and you’re struck by how less severe his face becomes. There’s a warmth to the icy blue eyes and a softness to the way his expression is.

“You know, two years ago I would never have even smiled at that,” Sherlock mutters, more to himself. “You and John….what have you done to me? I’m positively emotional now.”

“Sometimes it’s good to drop the robotic act,” you say wisely. “I told you before Sherlock, I see through you. You feel and probably more than most people, that’s why you shut yourself off from it.”

“You’re right, naturally. Doesn’t mean I’ll take John’s advice and start crying at sad films.”

“I couldn’t see you crying at  _any_  film frankly.”

“But you could see me crying sometime?” he asks, looking at you curiously.

“Yeah,” you think about it. “I don’t think you’re immune to feeling sad or overwhelmed.”

“Mina, I have no idea why you understand me so much,” he sighs, spearing another chip. “It’s irritating.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“But necessary. My behaviour isn’t always exemplary, I know this. It’s good to have someone to tell me when I’m being…what was it? A colossal unit?”

You almost choke on the chip you were eating as you giggle before wiping your mouth to clear the excess salt away.

God, you were actually laughing and joking with Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes! It’d taken so long to break past the shell of arrogance and disdain but there he was, the true person underneath.

“I like it when you smile,” Sherlock says to himself. “I don’t know why though.”

“It’s called bonding,” you roll your eyes. “It makes you happy to make others happy, the people you like.”

“Bonding, hmmm,” Sherlock thinks it over. “I like bonding.”

There’s the most obscene moan that sounds of out nowhere and you look around yourself to try and see where the noise came from. Sherlock just carries on eating like he hadn’t heard it.

“What was that?” you ask.

“What was what?” he doesn’t look up.

“That noise, just now. It sounded-”

Another moan.

“Is that…your ringtone?” you look at him incredulously.

If it were possible to say, Sherlock looks embarrassed but he covers it up quickly. You’re beginning to watch for his micro-movements because they always give away his true emotions.

“Somebody’s ringtone, yes,” comes the terse response.

“Whose?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Who has that ringtone?”

“Why do you need to know, Mina?” he frowns. “Its not important.”

“Fine, sorry for taking an interest in your life,” you hold up your hands.

Sherlock lets out a dramatic sigh, “Well if you’re going to be like this. It’s Irene Adler.”

John had told you about her before, the only woman who had ever outfoxed Sherlock. The high society dominatrix. It was something of an odd relationship they had and John had even suggested they might have romantic feelings for each other. He’d also said the only time they ever speak now is on…

“Is it….is it your birthday today?” you ask him outright.

“Birthdays are silly things,” he looks at the floor. “Yay let’s celebrate another Gregorian calendar year since you came into the world with cake and party hats….and balloons. No thank you. I have better things to do with my time. Christmas, now  _Christmas_  I like as a holiday, a celebration.”

“Happy birthday Sherlock,” you ignore his ramblings, leaning forward and hugging him, much to his surprise.

You turn and kiss his cheek before leaning back to where you were. You can feel your face heating up at the fact he’s just staring at you like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Would you like to go for a totally non celebratory walk that may or may not involve me going past the ice cream parlour?” you suggest.

“It would have to be in a totally non celebratory way,” Sherlock thinks it over. “No singing, no revelry.”

“Scouts honour,” you make the salute.

“Let’s go for a walk then.”

“Really? You’re not worried about-”

“If Moriarty comes, I’m prepared,” Sherlock says quickly. “I can see you’re restless in here. You don’t like not having freedom. Come on, the parlour closes in two hours. Get your coat.”

You go back upstairs, hesitating as you near the wardrobe where the loft hatch is before opening the door and grabbing your winter coat. You hear the hatch open above you.

“Trying to get some privacy, are we?” comes the acidic voice of Moriarty. “Did you enjoy your chips with Sherlock?”

“Yes, I did,” you fire back, a little angry at the insinuation.

Then he comes down the ladder, boxing you into the corner of the wardrobe, “Are you testing me, Mina? Is that what this is? Do you enjoy me when I’m jealous?”

“ _Are_  you jealous of Sherlock?” you probe.

“Of course I’m fucking jealous,” comes the snarled hiss. “I’m viewing you from afar and he’s all over you.”

“I need to go, he’ll get suspicious if I’m too much longer,” you whisper.

“Wouldn’t want to keep lover boy waiting,” Moriarty’s lip curls as he coldly surveys you. “Go.”

You make to get out but you’re set upon by him almost launching himself on you, kissing you hungrily before he steps back and disappears up the ladder.

“I’ll know if you’re unfaithful Mina.”

Then the hatch is closed.

You shiver a little before pulling the coat on and making your way back downstairs, wiping your mouth as you go. Sherlock is waiting at the bottom of the stairs with his scarf neatly tucked around his neck.

“Shall we?” Sherlock gestures.

You force all thoughts of Moriarty out of your mind, knowing your face would give you away if you let it. You concentrated on how nice Sherlock was being to you and let that emotion take centre stage as you smiled at him.

Fuck, Moriarty was going to make you the world’s greatest actress like this.

As you walked through the crisp afternoon, Sherlock offered his elbow to you like an old fashioned gentleman and you took it, letting him guide you down the streets of London. You just talked about anything and everything and he seemed happy to listen. Normally you’d think he’d zone out or become annoyed at your prattling but he asked questions which showed he truly was listening.

You took him to the parlour, insisting you pay for everything since it was his birthday and all. He seemed to have no objections to the birthday cake ice cream flavour you picked out for him, happily picking away at his tub with the tiny spoon as you sat on a bench outside overlooking the Thames.

“Do you know, I don’t think birthdays are quite as bad as I made them out to be,” he turns his head to look at you. “Thank you, Mina.”

“I’ve changed your mind then?”

“You’ve changed it on quite a few subjects,” he admits. “This is…nice. Listen, I know I keep apologising but I know I was truly a bastard to you when you first came here. I’m glad you didn’t run away.”

“Me too,” you smile back at him. “It’s nice to know the real Sherlock underneath the ego.”

He smirks a little at that, nudging you in the side before his eyes focus on something on your face, “Hold still, you have raspberry sauce on your mouth. Honestly, you eat like a child.”

He brushes the side of your lips with the pad of his thumb before popping said thumb in his own mouth. He seems to realise what he’s done and quickly puts his hands back on his ice cream tub.

“Uh thanks?” you say uncertainly.

A normal ringtone sounds out and Sherlock answers the phone quickly, “Yes?….Yes….Boring, goodbye…oh?….Well maybe you should have started with that then you oaf. I’ll be there soon.”

“Lestrade?” you guess.

“You’re getting good at that,” Sherlock side eyes you. “There’s a case. Would you like to come along?”

“Yes,” you reply eagerly.

Another of Sherlock’s genuine smiles and you feel like you’ve finally broken down his abrasive exterior at last.

“Very good. Come on then, we’ve got a body to look at.”

 

**

 

Entering the morgue again gave you the chills but Sherlock and Molly checked every single one of the freezer compartments, given your last incident here.

“All clear,” Molly announces with a nervous laugh. “No scary ex-boyfriends on ice this time.”

“Ex?” you say puzzled.

“Moriarty pretended to be Molly’s boyfriend to meet me for the first time,” Sherlock says hurriedly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say genuinely.

“Don’t worry,” she hides her hands in her lab coat sleeves. “I’m not very good with romances anyway. I always want what I can’t have.”

You knew straight away she was talking about Sherlock. Her infatuation was obvious.

“Autopsy,” Sherlock clicks his fingers, holding out a hand to her.

“Right, yes. Here we go,” she grabs a file from the desk and hands it over where he begins scanning it immediately before he tosses it haphazardly to you.

You catch it before looking at the medical jargon with absolutely no clue what it meant before you just focused on the strange thing that must have caught Sherlock’s attention in the first place.

“He had handcuffs in his throat?!” you say baffled.

“Yeah,” Molly grabs an evidence bag, showing the ornate cuffs with velvet lining.

“Fancy,” you remark.

“Sending a message,” Sherlock looks up at the bag. “This man is well groomed, expensive facials judging by the smell of the chemicals, the grooming goes-” he lifts up the sheet, “-all the way down and appears he has abdominal inserts to give him the illusion of muscles.”

“So a rich boy then,” you conclude simply.

“Yes if you have to be so base,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Perhaps he was a member of a gang, there’s a ring mark so possibly a signet ring. Maybe he wanted to get out or was going to tell some secrets.”

“Or maybe he had a scorned lover who was into some kinky stuff,” you take the bag, looking at the craftmanship. “These have been used. The velvet has worn down.”

“Give me that,” Sherlock is by your side and snatching the evidence away to look over it before his brows knit in annoyance. “Yes of course. Oh it was so simple! The ice cream is making me lose my edge. I should never eat sugar before a case.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes.

“That and I have a very astute partner with me right now,” he adds slyly before walking back to the body. “Well done.”

“Compliments now? My my, we  _are_  getting nice, aren’t we?” you tease to which Sherlock scowls at you.

“I’ll…I’ll just make myself scarce, shall I?” Molly coughs awkwardly, looking crushed at your interaction as she barrels past you and leaves the lab.

“You know she likes you, right?” you say to Sherlock as the door closes.

“Naturally.”

“Does she know you’re not interested?”

“I would’ve thought that was perfectly obvious,” he shrugs, using a pair of tweezers to pull open the flap over the stomach cavity like he knows what he’s looking for. “I don’t reciprocate, therefore I am not interested.”

“Girls need a bit more directness than that,” you snort. “She’s holding onto hope, I can see it.”

“Mina, do me a favour and shut up. I’ve got something here.”

“I knew the niceness was too good to last,” you grumble before walking towards the cadaver and peering in, trying not to lose your dessert.

Sherlock pulls out the minutest scrap of wadded up paper before moving to the microscope and smoothing the paper out with precise motions until it lay flat in a petri dish. He examines through the scope for some time making noises now and then until he looks up at you.

“You were right in some respects but the lover is not a lover. They’re paid.”

“Prostitute?” you ask.

“Dominatrix.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Is that a contact card then?”

“Not a personal one unfortunately but we’ll head to the agency all the same,” Sherlock moves away with less haste than usual and the lack of enthusiasm is a little off.

You get suspicious and decide to call him out, “Sherlock, have you already solved this case in your head and are just playing along to entertain me?”

“How on earth do you keep doing that?!” he shouts in surprise. “That’s not natural, Mina.”

“Well?”

“Yes, alright. I know who it is but I want to see if  _you_  can solve it. I told you before that I would like it if you joined me and John. Now is your chance to see if it suits you. Want to continue?”

“Sure but no more bullshit,” you warn him. “You’re not as good as you think you are at acting.”

“Consider me told,” Sherlock mumbles, pushing you out of the door.

  
  


**

 

You arrive at what looks like just an ordinary house in Kensington before Sherlock rings the doorbell.

“Now remember, Mina. We’re trying to keep a cover,” he reminded you for the seventh time. “Do your best to seem like their kind of patron.”

“I’m not the one who’s inept with romance,” you shoot back.

“Need I say, Moriarty?” Sherlock quirks up an eyebrow.

“Fair point,” you huff.

The door is answered by a woman in a long silk gown with immaculately styled hair and if the sight of the two of you phases her, she doesn’t let on. She waves you in, shutting the door behind her.

“Are you my six o'clock?” she asks.

“I am,” you answer confidently.

“Right this way. Is your man watching or participating?” she asks, looking at Sherlock who’s doing a scarily good impression of a normal human right now.

“Oh I just like to watch,” he says a little goofily. “I love her so much I just want to see her have fun.”

Okay, it  _really_  scared you how well he did that. You wonder if he studies expressions and mannerisms in his spare time from the media he watches.

“How adorable!” she coos. “Well I have the perfect Domme for you if you’d like to follow me.”

You walk up the stairs and into a room which has a bed and a curtain that runs along half of the room. It’s backlit so you can see general shapes behind it.

“Now, Mr….” the woman addresses Sherlock.

“Escott,” he answers.

“Very good, Mr Escott, I’ll need you to sign some forms before we get started.”

“Oh okay then,” Sherlock says before turning to you with a pointed stare. “Be safe, darling.”

“Always am,” you call back sweetly.

You’re wondering what you should be looking for. Sherlock would’ve figured out the necessary clues in five seconds flat and here you were bumbling around staring at the lush décor with moderate interest.

“Well,” comes a honeyed voice and you turn to see a slim woman who just exuded seduction. “Aren’t you a scrumptious little thing? Let me guess, first time?”

“Uh…” you stammer, caught off guard.

“Little lamb,” she purrs as she circles you. “Whatever am I to do with you, hmm? Shall I make you speak up? Shall I make you unleash the lion within?”

She whirls you around so your back is to the door before doing something you’re sure no professional should do and softly gives you a peck on the lips. You notice her eyes are looking past you as she does this so you turn your head to see Sherlock in the doorway looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Miss Adler,” he coughs.

_Irene_  Adler?!

“Wherever did you find this one, Sherlock?” she smirks. “So innocent looking but you’re not, are you dear?”

“You’re meant to be in hiding,” Sherlock stares at his shoes.

“I get bored,” she shrugs, draping herself around you. “This lifestyle pays well. Answer my question, darling? Who is this girl?”

“I’m Mina,” you pipe up. “I’m staying with John and Sherlock.”

“Mina, is it?” she trails a lock of your hair through her fingers. “Witness protection?”

“Something like that,” you confirm.

“And what brings you to this club?”

“We want to know who Gavin Finnick saw when he came here last.”

“Tsk,” she bops you on the nose. “Confidentiality, dear.”

“Doesn’t apply in death,” you challenge. “The name.”

“Oh!” she laughs. “I like this one, Sherlock. She’s fiery. I would have such fun breaking her. I love the spirited ones.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you duck out of her grip before standing next to Sherlock. “Name please.”

“That would be one Miss Demure,” Irene concedes. “Though I assure you, she’s not a killer.”

“Does she have any obsessive clients? Anyone who might get jealous she’s with other people?”

“Very good,” she smiles. “That’s the right question, darling. She did, as a matter of fact. I’m sure Kiki can get you the address for them.”

“Okay well thank you for your time,” you say politely, keen to get out of this awkward situation.

“Manners too,” she purses her lips into a kiss. “If you get tired of Sherlock’s life, you’d made a great dominatrix you know.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you blush a little.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Irene looks at Sherlock. “You never rendezvoused for dinner.”

“You know I don’t respond,” comes the clipped response.

“Or you didn’t  _want_  to,” she saunters up to him. “Because you’re not as interested any more, are you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock steps back towards you. “Good day, Miss Adler.”

“Does she know?” Irene laughs to herself. “Of course not, you’re not bold enough.”

“Know what?” you look between the two.

“The reason he doesn’t want to be here, that he has lost interest in me because someone  _else_  has that interest.”

“You like someone?” you ask Sherlock, a little puzzled. “Do you  _know_ any other females apart from her, Molly and Mrs Hudson?”

“We’re leaving Mina,” Sherlock takes your arm, leading you away and towards the door.

“Shame you like her, Sherlock,” Irene calls. “I would’ve done great things with her.”

“What?” you’re really baffled now.

“Don’t!” Sherlock barks, getting angry.

“If you don’t tell, I will,” Irene’s charming smile becomes an icy stare. “You can’t always be afraid of your feelings Sherlock.”

“I think you proved feelings are a weakness,  _Irene_ ,” Sherlock says coldly.

“Is that so?”

“Someone tell me what’s going on. Now,” you chide them both. “I hate people speaking cryptically.”

“Well?” Irene crosses her arms, an air of satisfaction that she was clearly winning whatever power struggle they were having.

“No,” Sherlock shakes his head, pulling you through the door where Irene follows.

“Shall I say it then?”

“Scream it from the rooftops. Doesn’t make it true.”

“Oh, my poor poor Sherlock,” she sighs, resting against the doorframe. “It’s worse than I thought. You’re in love, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so aggressive.”

“Goodbye.”

With that, you’re bodily yanked down towards the reception area to pick up the stalker’s contact details. Sherlock uses his phone to alert Greg, essentially handing the case over at that point. Your time as a consulting consultant detective was over but the questions you had had just grown.

  
  


**

  
  


The taxi ride back was uncomfortable. Sherlock didn’t even want to look at you, choosing instead to update his own blog on the tensile strength of various knots.

When you got back to Baker Street, he rushed upstairs towards 221B and you had to run after him to stop him from shutting the door on you.

“What is going on?” you ask, barging past him so he can’t kick you out. “What did she mean by that?”

“Nothing, she was just trying to get in your head. It’s a silly little game of hers which I don’t appreciate,” he says rapidly. “Good work on the case. Could use a little bit more initiative next time but a solid first effort, despite the circumstances.”

“You mean your ex being all over me?”

“She’s not my ex.”

“Lover?”

“Mina, this discussion is over.”

“Fuck off, it’s not over,” you scowl. “You owe me an explanation. What did she mean?”

Sherlock seems incredibly agitated as he kicks over the letter stand with a frustrated growl. You’d never seen him like this before. Whatever Irene had said had obviously hit home. You were just wondering how much of it was true because piecing together her words and his actions….

Did Sherlock have romantic feelings for you?

“Nope. No. Not doing this,” Sherlock sprints by and locks himself in his bedroom.

You try and knock on the door but he won’t answer. He even clicks off the light inside like a child would when hiding from someone.

“Alright fine,” you call through the door. “Really mature, Sherlock.”

“What’s going on?” John pokes his head around the partition.

“Just Sherlock being Sherlock,” you sigh, glaring at the door in front of you.

“Just let him sleep on it,” John advises. “When he gets in a strop there’s no speaking to him until the next day.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Good day at work?”

“I got sneezed on by an elderly lady so that was eventful,” John laughs. “Go and get some rest, Mina. It’s Saturday tomorrow, I can spend the day with you and catch up a little if you like?”

“Sounds good to me,” you smile. “Night, John.”

“Night, Mina.”

You walk back up to your flat before taking a deep breath and going inside, knowing your day of heightened emotions wasn’t over yet. Moriarty was still up here.

You just ignore the wardrobe, choosing instead to dress for sleep and wind down with some reading in bed. You stared extra hard at the pages, willing yourself not to look up at the ceiling. Your emotions were too tangled to try and add Moriarty into the mix right now.

You felt like such a fraud continuing to live with everyone’s hospitality whilst you knew Moriarty was above you but you felt worse knowing Sherlock might potentially like you as more than a friend. You had been growing quite fond of him yourself but it had never crossed your mind he would actually seek out relationships at all. You’d always pegged him as quite asexual.

What a fucking mess this was and it was only a matter of time before things blew up in your face.

  
  


**

 

You awoke to a feeling of something warm and wet on your inner thigh, moving with purpose upwards and towards your core.

You wondered if you were dreaming or not. You’d had your share of sex dreams lately but this seemed a little bit more tangible. You felt yourself writhing into the sensation and moaning softly. Then there was a sharp bite.

“Ow!” you hiss, bolting upright and flinging the covers off to see Moriarty giving you a sly smirk between your legs. “What the fucking hell are you doing?”

“Mina,” he moves up your body. “I’m bored of waiting for you to figure out the loophole.”

“Loophole?”

“In our game? Oh for god’s sake I thought you were supposed to be clever,” he rolls his eyes, canting his hips forward to grind against you. “Figure it out, Mina.”

“I don’t-”

He grips you by the throat, pushing your head back and whispering in your ear, “If I have to explain it to you, I’ll be very upset. Come along now. Don’t disappoint me.”

The loophole…the loophole to your game….the loophole that allowed Moriarty to bite your thigh? You grasped wildly for what he was referring to until you felt him grind against you again. The game was about fucking you from his perspective so the loophole in that would be…

“There are others things besides fucking,” you gasp out around his grasp.

“There we go,” he coos softly. “You have no idea how looooong I was waiting for you to figure it out. I could’ve had you down on your knees in that masquerade ball but you just kept teasing instead.”

“I thought you liked the teasing?” you fire back, rolling your hips against his now and watching his eyes flutter shut. “It would’ve been boring to realise it so quickly.”

“Oh you little minx,” he purrs, running his hand down your waist. “You’re right. You’re so right. Keeping me on edge all the time made me want you that much more. Oh you are good at this, aren’t you? How did I not see it?”

“Not everything is about instant gratification.”

“Only on this occasion,” he nips at your neck. “So, my little Mina. The game is nearly over. Shall we indulge the loophole?”

“I don’t…I don’t think..” you shake your head.

“Why not?” he growls.

“John and Sherlock are asleep underneath us,” you whisper. “I can’t. I-”

“Or maybe you don’t want to,” the hand tightens on your throat. “Maybe you actually like Sherlock more than me now. I mean…first chips and now ice cream?”

“You knew?” you try to wriggle out from under him.

“I always know everything, Mina. I told you I’d know if you were unfaithful. The whole of London’s CCTV is in my back pocket. My network is everywhere.”

Why should you have expected anything different? Moriarty was never one to let go of his control. He would always be watching.

“It was his birthday,” you try and reason, feeling your head start to buzz from the lack of oxygen.

“Did you give him a birthday kiss?” comes the feral, bitter response.

“I can’t…I can’t….breathe,” you start jerking, your body going into panic mode.

“Did you? Answer me. Did you put your lips on another man?”

“Cheek,” you rasp.

Then his hand is gone and the rush of air comes back into your lungs, almost stinging. There’s this expression of pure rage on Moriarty’s face, mixed with ugly jealousy.

“You kissed Sherlock on the cheek?” he repeats monotonously.

“Yes. He’s my friend,” you rub your throat, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“But he’s not yours, is he? Do you know, I have The Woman on my payroll still? She tells me things. She tells me Sherlock looks at you like a man in love. You’re beginning to suspect it yourself, aren’t you?”

“Irene works for you?”

“She owes me a lot of favours. I asked her to assess Sherlock whenever she saw him next. She’s never wrong.”

“Sherlock doesn’t love me, that’s ridiculous,” you try and sit up but you get pushed back down.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he growls, one hand digging grooves into your thigh. “You’re more perceptive than that. That’s why you came up here so quickly after you got back. You needed to think, to rationalise. Sherlock has feelings for you and I won’t stand for it.”

“What does it matter if he does?” you hiss back. “Great, now I have two geniuses who are too afraid to tell me what they really feel. Lucky me.”

His other hand fiercely grabs your hair, yanking your head to the side as he bites under your collarbone harshly and you have to stifle your cries to not attract the attention of the men on the floor underneath you.

“You test my patience,” he relents before staring hard at you. “I told you our game is nearly over. Don’t lump me in with Sherlock and his inability to express even the basest of emotions.”

You slap him across the face, wincing at the loud sound it makes as you do so, “You’re a fucking idiot, Jim Moriarty. You can’t keep abandoning me and expect me to roll over every time you appear and get jealous when men talk to me.”

You think this was the point you may have overstepped the line and he was actually going to kill you now. The expression on his face just melts into nothing but cold indifference and then…

“You’re right, Mina,” he sighs. “This hasn’t been particularly fair for you but there is a reason and there is a point to it. This is part of the plan. I’m just not reacting well to it because I burn so hot for you. It’s overwhelming and I haven’t ever experienced this before. It’s maddening in a way.”

“Stop taking it out on me though,” you say firmly. “You almost killed me just now because you envy Sherlock.”

“Hmmm, different approach then,” he muses before moving down your body. “I’ll just make you see I’m the only option.”

“No, that’s not what I-” you try and get out but he’s already ripped your underwear off.

“Hush, my little queen of Chaos,” he grins up at you. “I know exactly what you want, what will make you see I’m better than Sherlock.”

You hadn’t intended to make him competitive. You just wanted him to understand he was scaring you with his behaviour, that his way of interacting with you was unhealthy.

Deft hands grip under your legs, locking you in place as you feel the flat of his tongue on your inner thigh, dragging up towards your  core before you feel the tentative swirl around your clit which makes you whimper a little. He seems to take that as a sign because one second he’s gently exploring and the next his passion takes over, diving upon you with greedy licks, moaning obscenely as he does so.

Shit, you’ve never had anyone be so enthusiastic like this. Your fingers are just twisting in the pillow, trying to keep your groans as quiet as possible. You didn’t know if he was simply amazing at this through practice or whether he was cataloguing each response to his swirls, licks and tiny sucks.

“I can’t,” you try and protest. “They’ll hear. Stop.”

“Do you truly want me to?” he lifts his head up. “Because your body is telling me something  _very_  different, Mina. God you are addictive. Let me keep going. I looooove feeling you twitch. Fuck, to have this much power over you….drives me wild, Mina.”

Everything he says just makes you more and more aroused and you find your lust is clouding your better judgement. When you don’t say anything else, he returns, letting his tongue slip in you before dragging it back up. You can feel his fingers bruising your thighs as he buries his face hard between your legs.

“Fuck,” you can’t contain the small whine any more.

“There we go,” he giggles to himself. “Oh what a sound that is.”

He picks up his pace and you’re jerking in his grip, the stimulation riding the line of oversensitive. He knows exactly how far to push you, when to get rougher and when to hold back. Moriarty is definitely studying your body language as he does this.

You can feel the band of pressure knotting more and more and your legs start tensing as the orgasm builds. You slam your hand over your mouth to contain the noise as you half scream, the pleasure barrelling through you.

“Fuck, Jim…fuck,” you whimper, spasming in his grip.

“Oh sweetheart, the way you say that. I’ve fantasised about how it would sound when I make you cum. Look at what you’ve done to me,” he groans, moving back up your body and pressing his groin to your sensitive sex. You can feel he’s rock hard. “Let me fuck you. I  _need_  you.”

“No,” you pant. “I’m not losing.”

“So stubborn, so enticing,” he bites at your bottom lip. “You are mine, Mina Moriarty. No one else’s. Do you understand? Only  _I_  can make you feel this alive. I’m better than Sherlock.”

You’ve spent the last week or so watching for Sherlock’s micro-movements that it’s become a habit now and you catch one on Moriarty’s face. It’s the minutest flicker of vulnerability, insecurity. He really was afraid of being inferior to Sherlock, so used to having the upper hand that you were his wildcard in the plan and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. For a man who liked to have total control, he never had it with you and it disarmed him.

“Mina, tell me you love me. Tell me you’re mine,” he kisses you softly. “Tell me the only name you’ll be moaning is mine.”

You hear the door open downstairs and you freeze. Moriarty just rolls his eyes before flicking your TV on to the soft porn channels on Sky before sliding off you and quietly making his way back up into the loft, closing all the doors behind him.

A soft knock sounds at the door, “Mina?”

It’s Sherlock.

You mute the TV before pulling on some jogging pants and going to open the door. Sherlock’s standing there in his bathrobe, looking fidgety.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Uh yeah, sure. What’s up?”

His eyes flick towards the TV and then your flushed state, “Was I interrupting?”

“Please don’t, this is embarrassing as it is,” you blush. “What did you need?”

“You can be forgiven for giving into your baser urges, Mina. I’m not here to judge,” he hovers near the door. “I just…I wanted to apologise for being so aggressive earlier. That wasn’t a satisfying conclusion to the night. Irene, she just…she knows how to get under my skin. So I guess what I’m really trying to explain is…what she meant.”

Oh no. This was the worst place for him to try and say what he felt with Moriarty right above you both. You had no idea if Moriarty would suddenly leap down and try to kill Sherlock.

“God, how do ordinary people do this? This is revolting,” he wrinkles up his nose. “What I mean to say is…she might not have been entirely lying.”

“Do you have feelings for me, Sherlock?” you ask the hanging question.

“I do,” he looks you straight in the eyes as he says this and you know with absolute conviction that it’s true. “I don’t know why. I’ve never had much of a romantic inclination and I never thought someone like you would pique it. You’re not brains smart after all and before you say it, that’s not an insult. You know you have emotional intelligence. I just didn’t believe I could recover my emotions. You see, I used to have this dog called Redbeard but he vanished one day. I’ve never really loved anything since.”

Oh god this was getting worse and worse. Sherlock was spilling his inner most soul out to you with his enemy inches away.

“Sherlock? I-”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t but I hate dwelling on things. Keeps me up at night. So there we are, I like you and I want to know more of you. Good night, Mina.”

“Wait, you can’t just drop a bombshell like that then go,” you bluster, following after him out onto the landing and down the stairs after him towards 221B. “Wait!”

“Too much interaction after a confession makes things awkward,” he turns around. “Please, just go to sleep.”

He takes your hands in his, squeezing gently, a soft expression that you’ve never seen before on his face. He gazes at you for a time before sighing heavily.

“Will you never do anything I ask, you foolish woman?”

“You know me, I’m too ‘spirited’ as Irene put it,” you smile. “Just know that it won’t make things awkward, okay?”

“If you say so,” he shuffles a little. “Good night, Mina.”

“Good night, Sherlock.”

You turn to go but he doesn’t let go of your hands, instead he pulls you back to him, flush against his chest as he puts a gentle hand on your cheek and kisses you out of the blue. Your mind just about fractures trying to process everything that’s gone on in the last hour. It’s too much.

“I’m not as inept as people think I am,” he smirks at your shocked face.

“I can’t,” you babble. “I can’t, he’ll kill you. He’ll know. He’ll-”

You’re silenced with another kiss and it’s so different to Moriarty. When Sherlock was pretending to rile you up, there was an element of forcedness to it, of fakery. This kiss was shy but curious and you felt this was truly him.

“Oh wonderful!” comes a voice from the bottom of the stairs and you jump away to see Mrs Hudson looking up at you. “I knew the candle was a good idea.”

“Go away!” Sherlock shoos her.

“You two are just adorable,” she giggles before ducking as Sherlock throws a newspaper at her. “Good night!”

“Oh no,” you groan.

“She’s been desperately hoping this would happen,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I caught her drawing love hearts with our initials in my morning coffee.”

“She’s just happy we’re getting on,” you glance at the bottom corridor.

“Mina, I know you’re frightened of Moriarty and you still have feelings for him but something made you get in the car with me that day at the station and I take it as a sign that you want to be saved from him but you’re too scared to pull away yourself. I’ll keep you safe, Mina. I’ll kill him if I need to. Now, off you go to bed. It’s late. Also, try to keep the porn down, you’re right above my bedroom.”

“Sorry,” you blush before breaking away from him. “Good night Sherlock.”

You get back to your flat, closing your door and locking it before leaning back against the wood and sliding down to the floor, holding your head in your hands.

Everything just got a lot more complicated and you didn’t know what to do. How on earth were you meant to make sense of it all? Sherlock liked you, Moriarty loved you and you were caught in the middle of their game, trying to win your own.

But  _were_  there any winners here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the penultimate chapter of this fic!  
> With the response on Tumblr, I've decided to do three endings to this story for the next update so you can choose the one you prefer.  
>  x


	20. I Win, You Lose - Ending 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first ending of The Great Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst/Smut

As you stayed on the floor, you’re wondering why Moriarty isn’t coming down, either furious about what Sherlock had divulged or gloating that he was right. Instead you were alone.

You felt claustrophobic up here, a little suffocated under the weight of the admission. You didn’t expect Sherlock to make it. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit with your image of him.

You just thought you were becoming good friends…

You didn’t mean for him to catch feelings. There was a horrendous sense of guilt that you might have led him on. You may have only been the second female he’s ever been close to and this is why he might be acting this way.

You made the decision to get dressed in something warmer before writing Sherlock a note, explaining that you needed space before quietly slipping out of your door, slinking down the stairs and exiting 221.

“Going somewhere, Mina?” Greg’s smoking outside.

“I need some air,” you shrug.

“You know I can’t let you go out without accompaniment,” Greg sighs. “What I mean is, for god’s sake can I come with you because staring at this street is doing my swede in.”

“Sure,” you smile. “I’m going to walk to Regent’s Park.”

“Oh brilliant, I like it there,” he smiles back as you start your journey. “Sherlock annoying you again?”

“Something like that,” you murmur.

“He can be a right tosser sometimes,” Greg laughs, taking a swig from his thermos of coffee.

“Sometimes,” you say non-committally before changing the subject. “Don’t your family miss you? You’re always doing protection duty?”

“Separated from my wife,” he gives you a small little smile. “Only got a goldfish to miss me.”

“Oh I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s alright. It’s a damn sight more peaceful than your family life it seems. Good lord the stuff your old mum was saying when you were in the cells….”

“Charming woman, isn’t she?” you snort.

“Ooof, not on my Christmas card list,” he shakes his head.

You reach the park and start walking in amongst the trees. It relaxes you a lot, making you calm down and think about your situation.

Analysing your own response to Sherlock’s confession, you didn’t feel the same level of affection as he obviously felt towards you. You only saw him as a friend. With that and the rivalry between Moriarty and him, things were going to turn ugly soon, maybe even fatal.

Could you even  _stay_  in Baker Street now? If Moriarty and Sherlock both had feelings for you then you were in a dangerous position.

“Mind if I just go for a slash?” Greg asks, nodding to a public toilet nearby.

“No, go ahead,” you smile, staring at the star strewn sky. “I’ve got some stargazing to do.”

“Lovely,” Greg jogs away. “Back in a mo!”

_Run._

That was the intrusive thought that hit you like a brick.

_Run._

Your legs were carrying you before you could even process. The urge to flee was just too strong. You sprinted across Regent’s Park, taking the back alleys towards Mornington Crescent station before remembering you don’t have access to your bank account any more. You couldn’t just disappear this way.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

There’s a beep of a horn and you turn to see an SUV with tinted windows. They park up next to you before the window of the driver’s side hums down.

“There you are!” Conrad pokes his head out before exiting the vehicle.

Of course, you forgot Moriarty was always tailing you and you were in full view of the Mornington Crescent station CCTV. You look up at the camera just silently staring at you before it gives a little back and forth like a wave.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Boss was anxious,” he says. “Worried about you so asked me to follow.”

“Worried, why?”

“Says you ran away from a Detective Inspector through a park? Bit of an odd thing, Mina. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just….”

But you trail off. How did you even begin to describe what you’d just done?

“You just needed to get away from everyone?” Conrad guesses.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Been there,” Conrad leans back against the car. “When I got discharged from the army I just wanted to run away and start a new life. Guess I did really. Bodyguard/Butler.”

“Can you keep this to yourself?” you ask, joining him against the car.

“No promises,” he says apologetically. “The Boss asks me, I have to tell him. You understand why.”

“I don’t know what to do. Sherlock Holmes just declared his feelings for me, Moriarty’s living in my roof in secret and I feel like it’s a powder keg waiting to go off. I just want to be somewhere where I don’t feel like I’m living on tenterhooks each day. I need a bit of stability.”

“That’s why you left with Sherlock after the arrest,” Conrad muses. “I get it. The boss has his routine, you know. Between you and me, I feel like he sometimes plays up to this maniacal genius image for your benefit. I’ve seen him just unwinding in front of movies some nights.”

“Really?”

“Men do funny shit when they like a bird,” Conrad laughs. “Boss ain’t any different. He’d settle, you know, if you were around all the time. Wouldn’t be as flamboyant. Oh don’t get me wrong, he’s an eccentric bastard but he recharges now and then.”

“What would you do?” you ask.

“Not for me to say. Tell you what, I say some scenarios, you tell me your first association. Alright?”

“Sure.”

“Staying at Baker Street.”

“Run,” you answer honestly.

“Striking out on your own.”

“Not possible given how tangled up in this I am.”

“Me taking you back to Moriarty’s house ahead of schedule.”

“Rebellious but….I do wonder what he’d do if I made a side step in his plan. That wouldn’t go well for you though, right?”

“Probably not,” Conrad smiles. “But you thought the option with the boss in it was more appealing than the option with Sherlock or being alone. Does that help?”

It did actually. Now you internalised it, your gut reaction was to get as far away from the mess of Baker Street. You didn’t want a relationship with Sherlock and you know he, along with Mrs Hudson would try and steer you in that direction. John would be the only one to back your corner.

True that Moriarty had nearly killed you but in his own weird way it was about establishing his presence and showing that Sherlock could never keep you protected. Sherlock wasn’t even aware Moriarty was living above you as far as you knew.

Moriarty, on the other hand, was always watching you and had sent Conrad to find you when you’d made a run for it.

“Would you like to see his message?” Conrad asks. “The boss’ request?”

“Yes please.”

There, on Conrad’s phone, was a text message that seemed so unlike the suave smooth talker you’d been used to.

 

**Boss: M’s in Regent’s Park. Made a run away from Lestrade heading towards Mornington Crescent. She looks upset. I don’t like my baby being upset. Find her, make sure she’s okay. Buy her ice cream. She likes ice cream. Bring her back here if she wants to. Let me know what she wants. Just find her before S does. Don’t care if it causes a scene. I want her to be safe. Please hurry.**

 

“So, McFlurry?” Conrad smirks at your dumbstruck expression.

“I always expected him to be more terse when giving you orders. This seems more like….a friend begging a favour.”

“Told you, the boss is more than he appears. He’s quite sensitive but he never lets on,” Conrad shrugs. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“Take me to his house,” you make up your mind after spotting several previous messages on the screen between the two where he’s referencing you quite lovingly, almost like a chat between two teenage boys.

Conrad types on the screen.

 

**The Butler: Talking with M. Wants to go home. Confirm if this is okay?**

**Boss: Take her home. Buy food on the way back. I’ll finish S business here. Abandon phase 4.**

 

“What’s phase 4?” you ask but Conrad just smirks before opening the rear door for you to get in. “What is it?”

“Can’t tell you that,” Conrad starts driving. “What food do you want?”

“Dessert. Just lots of dessert,” you watch the world go by you outside. “I just ran for ages, I need the sugar.”

“Sure thing, Mina,” Conrad laughs. “Kaspas it is then.”

 

**

 

You got to Moriarty’s, sitting in the dining room with your waffle topped with ice cream along with a platter of scoops in various dishes. Conrad had gotten a lot, not knowing what Moriarty would have.

It’s about halfway through your waffle that the doors open and Moriarty comes in, dressed like he’d come straight over from Baker Street in the jogging pants and t-shirt he’d taken to wearing in the loft. He walks straight over to you, cupping your face in his hands and checking you worriedly.

“Are you alright, my little Mina? Were you running from me? Did I do something wrong? I got so worried with you all alone at night in that park,” he babbles rapidly.

“No I wasn’t running from you. Just the place and…”

“Sherlock’s confession?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t stay when all I wanted to be was his friend.”

“And Mrs Hudson wants to play matchmaker all the time and John texts Greg asking when you and Sherlock will ‘finally kiss’. Yes I know,” Moriarty frowns.

“You know, I half expected you to come down after Sherlock said what he did,” you murmur.

“Was I supposed to?” Moriarty blinks in surprise. “You looked like you wanted space.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. I can’t keep up with you sometimes, Jim. You get so violent and aggressive then you’re soft and caring. Can I ask, do you play up your personality for me?”

“I see I’ll have to fire Conrad for blabbing,” Moriarty raises an eyebrow.

“Please don’t,” you stand up. “He was the reason I realised I wanted to be here.”

“Maybe I’ll unfire him then,” he chuckles.

“So? My question?”

“You’re probably the first person I’ve been around this long romantically,” Moriarty strokes your hair. “I don’t let people in. People are boring and they’re predictable. Why should I disclose myself fully when no one has ever interested me nor been loyal? So knowing you’ve chosen and  _truly_  chosen me again and again and again, yes, I play up to my reputation. Occasionally I like classical music and a hot bubble bath…with a rubber duck”

“Thanks for being honest,” you nod. “What kind of rubber duck?”

“Oh! It is dressed like a sailor!” he smiles widely before his face drops for a moment. “I’m so glad you didn’t leave me Mina.”

“Told you I wouldn’t.”

He grabs your waist before kissing you passionately. You note it feels right doing this. The last time you were here, there was still that wall of playing up to the eccentric genius but it was slightly melted and this was more like the night when he was domestic. You’re wondering if that was who he truly was when he wasn’t being a consulting criminal.

“This reminds me of the restaurant,” Moriarty breaks away, looking at the ice cream on the table.

“Does it?” you say innocently.

“Oh you little teaaaaase,” he purrs. “You know, I think I’ll give Conrad a raise. I love having you back here.”

“Did it not mess up your plans?”

“I was going to extract you from Baker Street tomorrow morning. My plans have finished,” he says simply. “I just wanted to give you one more night to think.”

“So….no more random surprises? This is it now? We live here?”

He points to the painting over the mantelpiece,  _the_  painting. If it’s here, he truly must have no more plans to uproot you.

“No more getting me arrested?”

“Only if we get caught,” he smirks. “I don’t intend to give up my network nor my daily activities. Still happy to be here?”

“Yes. You know how I reacted at the ball.”

“And it was glorious,” he coos. “Oh you were so magnificent! I foresee a criminal empire in our future, a legacy. The Moriarty name will live on for generations! Ha!”

“Will it now?” you raise an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t want a family future?” he pouts. “Your reading material tells me otherwise.”

You blink a little, “I just didn’t expect  _you’d_  want that.”

Moriarty was more surprising than he appeared. He had a great veneer of showmanship but there was still the desire for love and family rooted into him mixed in along with the sadism.

“Well duh, I like kids,” Moriarty rolls his eyes. “Imagine how clever they’d be, hmm? The Moriarty’s could rule the world. What a  _fantastic_ saga! Let’s celebrate!”

He grabs a spoon, moving it through the ice cream before bringing it to your lips where you make a display of licking the spoon that makes his pupils dilate.

“Is this you forgiving me, Mina? Forgiving me for putting you through this all?”

“It was a twisted loyalty test right? And whatever game you had with Sherlock which I’m assuming since you said it was done…was to do with me.”

“Ohhhh my clever clever girl,” he grins. “Yes it was.”

“Something to do with Sherlock developing feelings for me?”

“Yeaaaaah,” he nods, beaming like a proud parent. “Sherlock always told me he didn’t have the capacity for love sooooo I called him out on it. Then it became a question of whether  _he_  had your interest or  _I_ did.”

“So you put me in a bunch of high stress situations to see if I’d develop feelings for Sherlock.”

“You knew all along?” he studies your face.

You take a deep breath, “You’ve always had an extreme way of testing your theories. I mean there was a point when I thought you were being reckless with my life but Lestrade told me the fuselage catching fire after the RPG attack was a fluke accident and you just intended to stop the taxi, not blow it up”

“I underestimated you,” Moriarty regards you. “I thought perhaps you’d just buffet along in the wind of my game with Sherlock but you were playing  _me_ , weren’t you? Pretending.”

“Oh no, not pretending. I was genuinely pissed off,” you snort. “I nearly died.”

His grip on you tightens, “And it was then I realised I needed to change my tactics. Oh Mina, if I’d actually killed or damaged you, I would’ve flung myself off the nearest building. I had no reason to live before I found you.”

You can see in his eyes he’s deadly serious. You knew how suicidal he was when you first knew him.

“Life was just so…”

“Boring?” you finish.

“Boring,” he nods. “You light such a fire in me, Mina. You have no idea how alive I’ve been these past few months. God, I just want to…”

He lunges at you, knocking you backwards onto the table where you accidentally push the plate with the waffle onto the floor, the ceramic smashing. He pays no attention before kissing you ferociously, positioning himself between your legs and grinding himself against you.

“Let me taste you again,” he groans. “You taste so good.”

“Are you hungry then?” you tease.

“Starving,” comes the growl.

You gesture to the ice cream, “Eat up.”

His eyes go wide as he gets your meaning before stripping you out of your clothes completely, laying you back on the table his hands digging into the ice cream bowls before smearing them on your body, causing you to gasp with the coldness. He doesn’t allow you to suffer long, the warmth of his mouth chasing the rivulets of raspberry, of chocolate, of vanilla.

He cares little as he climbs on top of you and gets his own clothing messy, kissing and biting at any part he could before moving back up to capture your lips.

“Take your clothes off,” you pant.

He hurriedly divests himself before you feel his burning skin make contact with yours. He was desperately aroused for you, that much was obvious.

You decide you’re going to exploit the loophole in his own game, pushing him back and grabbing a handful of what looked like cookies and cream ice cream before smearing it down his own torso. You hold him steady as you kiss, lick and bite at the flesh, as his hands come to rest in your hair. When your mouth dips down lower and lower, you think he’s surprised.

“What are you doing?” he asks but there’s the twitch of his cock as he’s anticipating your journey down.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?”

“It feels like my Mina is going to-”

But the sentence dies as your tongue circles the head of his cock before letting it slip past your lips. The low growl he makes as his fingers tug at your hair only makes you giggle a little. There’d always been a strange power dynamic between the two of you and as much as you liked him taking control, seeing him completely at your mercy like this was incredibly arousing.

You take all of him in, choking a little on the length but pushing on regardless and the string of swearing that comes with it makes the slight discomfort worth it.

“God you’re so  _fucking good_  with your mouth, Mina. I always wondered and fuuuuuck, sweetheart I could die happy right now.”

You hollow your cheeks, making a faster pace and you feel him buck his hips, chasing a deeper thrust before he suddenly pulls away.

“Hmm, not this fast. Oh no. I’m too excited. I don’t want this to be over so soon,” he takes all the bowls that still contain ice cream and throws the contents all over the table behind you, discarding the crockery on the floor before using his bodyweight to pitch you backwards and you feel yourself slide in the cold substance. “I’m going to enjoy every inch of you.”

“Are you?” you challenge.

“Yes because you’re mine,” he groans as his tongue flicks out over your nipple. “You’re all mine.”

“Are  _you_  mine, Jim?” you rake your nails down his back and he hisses in pleasure.

“I am, all yours sweetheart,” he kisses you harshly and you taste the mingle of flavours on his lips. “All yours.”

“Fuck, Jim,” your head lolls back as he nips at your throat and you curl your hands around his cock, pumping lazily as his fingers skate across the mess on your body and down in between your legs, slipping through your soaked folds and rubbing tight little circles around your clit. “Fuck!”

“God that sounds drives me  _fucking wild_ ,” he growls. “I need to watch you cum again for me, I’m addicted.”

You didn’t quite realise how aroused you were until it only took a few minutes before that familiar build was starting, your thigh muscles quivering and the hold you had on Moriarty’s shoulder was becoming like a vice grip. You came hard, almost screaming and you could see him watching every movement of your face, his cock thickening even more in your hand. He was probably close himself

“Oh Mina,” he kisses all over your face, biting softly at your bottom lip. “Oh I love you.”

He said it.

You weren’t sure whether to make a big deal of it or ignore it. He’d just lost your game.

He was too involved in his own lust to realise for a second before his face just drops and then he bursts out into laughter, “Whoops. Silly me. We were still playing the game. Well done, Mina. You win. Are you horrified?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

The reaction to his confession was vastly different to Sherlock’s. You felt a sense of warmth, contentment. You knew in that moment how you felt yourself.

“I love you too.”

“Oh you do?” he beams. “Excellent!”

“Oh and…that means the game is over right?” you question.

“Yesssss?” he says hesitantly.

“Good, then fuck me,” you pull him flush to you on the table. “Months of teasing and I need you, Jim.”

“Fucking  _finally_ ,” he smirks before slicking himself against you and driving his cock in deep. “Ohhh you feel like warm velvet. So  _tight_.”

He’s taking too much time for your liking so you manage to flip him over so you’re on top of him. You set your own pace immediately, riding him hard as his fingers grip your waist, helping you along as he drinks in the sight of you.

“This is art,” he praises, his eyes never leaving your body. “Pure art.”

He sits up, rolling you onto your back, thrusting hard into you. You surrender control back to him, moaning loudly as he takes his fill of you.

“Look at me, Mina,” he rasps, grabbing your jaw. “I want to see your eyes. You have such expressive eyes.”

He had such an intense gaze as he rutted against you, verging on the animalistic and when you met it, it got even more primal. You just wanted more.

“Fuck me harder, Jim.”

“Oh you little deviant,” he smirks before fulfilling your wish, then bending down to whisper in your ear. “I’m going to enjoy filling you up, Mina. I’m going to enjoy watching my cum pour out of you. Our legacy starts here.”

He pushes as deep as he can, you clenching around him as he does so before he groans loudly and you feel the wetness drip down from where your bodies meet. Then he unexpectedly sweetly kisses you.

“Fancy watching a film?” he offers genially, like you didn’t just make a mess of his dining room.

“Sure,” you smile and he withdraws before pulling you upright and off the table.

“I think I’ll get Damien Hirst to frame this table,” he holds his hands up in a rectangular fashion. “Be a shame to waste it.”

Looking down, it looks like abstract art with the remnants of the melted ice cream, “Imagine that being the British Art Museum and nobody knowing we fucked on it.”

“Oh I love your mind!” Moriarty cackles before grabbing his phone and texting. “Shower first though.”

“Good, we can have round two then,” you wink as you pass him on the way to the bathroom.

“This is going to be a beautiful future,” he sings, watching your naked form as you leave the room before eagerly running after you.

 

**

 

Lestrade sets out the photos in front of Sherlock whose face momentarily twitches.

“Thought you might wanna see these,” Lestrade sighs before patting Sherlock on the shoulder.

“Is it her?” John says from the armchair.

Sherlock doesn’t answer so John gets up, looking down at the pictures which are blurry but he can make out Moriarty on the top floor of the Hilton hotel.

“They’re very good,” Lestrade rubs his chin. “Avoided all cameras, no evidence left behind, absolutely nothing linking them to the rolling over the British Museum.”

“What was taken?” John asks.

“Um,” Greg consults his notes. “The Elgin Marbles?”

“What?” John unfolds his arms. “They stole Greek architecture?”

“Likelyhood is some Greek elite is paying a lot of money to have them back in their country. Always been a bone of contention between Britain and Greece.”

“Wrong,” Sherlock says briefly.

“Then what?”

“Mina loved travelling to Greece. They’ll be at Moriarty’s home, wherever that is, displayed. She’d like looking at it.”

“So you’re saying James Moriarty is stealing all these things for  _Mina_?” Lestrade blinks in disbelief.

“Keep up,” comes the acidic reply.

“What about his network?”

“He has The Butler taking care of that for the moment,” Sherlock sighs irritably.

“I still can’t believe she left,” John shakes his head, looking at the second picture which shows you joining Moriarty on the balcony and him having his arm around your shoulders. “I thought we could save her, I really did.”

“Yeah well, PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome is more powerful than reason sometimes,” Greg shrugs sadly. “I’d best be off. Good night.”

“Hey Sherlock, could we-” John started but Sherlock sprung up from the desk, breezing past him into his bedroom.

He lay on the bed, staring at his stained ceiling in the sheer mess of his clothing flung around the floor and came to the conclusion that he would never open himself up again.

Whilst you’d just been missing, there’d been hope of you coming back, of Sherlock apologising for overstepping the boundaries of your friendship and making you run away but what he’d seen in those photos, that of course neither of the other two had noticed, had dashed that kernel of hope forever.

Picture three showed Moriarty’s hands around your waist, resting in a protective position on your stomach. There was only one deduction.

You were pregnant with Moriarty’s child and he’d lost you forever.


	21. You Win, I Lose - Ending 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Win, I Lose - Ending 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst/Smut/Violence

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh deaaaaaar,” comes a soft voice from the cupboard.

You just ignore it. You want to remain on the floor trying to process what the fucking hell was going on.

When you don’t move, Moriarty emerges from the door, something of a jealous and yet triumphant grin on his face. He beckons you with one crooked finger and when you don’t move, he carefully strides across the floor, taking care not to make any floorboards squeak.

“Are you just going to mope all night?” he raises an eyebrow. “Sheesh, I didn’t realise Sherlock was that much of a horrifying prospect that it broke you.”

“I’m not broke, I just…I don’t understand it,” you hiss. “You, I get why you like me but I don’t get why Sherlock does.”

“Might be because him and I are not so different. He’s just on the side of the angels,” Moriarty shrugs. “Does it matter? I mean…you’re not going to reciprocate  _are you_?”

He squats down to get on your level, assessing you and you’re loathe to give anything away in your face but you know he’ll catch it just the same.

“Ohhhh, little Mina’s confused, hmm?” his eyes flick across yours. “Well, it’s time sweetheart. Time to go.”

“What?”

“I said I’d get you when the time was right and now it’s right,” Moriarty rolls his eyes like he’s explaining this to a child. “So, are you coming?”

“I…I don’t….”

“Do you not like me any more, Mina?” he seems uncharacteristically sad. “Am I not enough? Do you need someone like Sherlock to make it exciting for you? All that adventure with none of the danger? Do you need someone a little more pure minded? I’m too aggressive, that’s it. Stupid, stupid!”

He smacks himself in the head several times and you panic, wrenching his hands away from his face before he just gives you a completely lost expression.

“Have I not given you everything Mina? What more could I do? Tell me what I need to do.”

And suddenly the one up-manship was just that, him squaring off to Sherlock to gain more of your affection, him being too insecure to believe in his own value. You didn’t think this was manipulation….probably.

“How would we leave?” you ask and his face splits into a warm smile.

“Through the roof. There’s a network of attics and Conrad is waiting three houses down.”

“Let’s go while everyone is asleep then,” you nod and take his hand as he pulls you upright and into his arms, kissing you sweetly.

“Thank you, Mina. Thank you.”

He leads you to the wardrobe and up the ladder to the hatch before you’re in the little makeshift room. You note the painting is gone, probably being placed back at his own house.

There was something niggling in the back of your mind that this still might not be a good idea. You took a last look at the hatch, feeling even more torn that you were abandoning John, Mrs Hudson….and Sherlock.

Everything was twisting in your gut, horrible feelings of guilt, self loathing and a lurch that you were leaving a comfortable life behind. You weren’t even sure of your own feelings towards Sherlock but seeing Moriarty that vulnerable had made you realise you couldn’t stay away from him. There was always going to be that pull.

“Last chance,” Moriarty says knowingly before you turn away and start following him through a little cubby hole across the beams, crawling behind him.

It’s humid, it’s dusty and you’re sure you’re getting splinters as you shuffle along but you keep going until you hit a wall that Moriarty just kicks out a panel of. It leads out into another attic but this one is furnished, likely a student flat from the small kitchenette it in.

“Hey Mina,” Conrad waves. “Long time no see.”

“House arrest was fun,” you say sarcastically and he laughs.

“Don’t flirt with my staff,” Moriarty scowls but it’s more in a playful way.

Conrad knows if he  _did_  actually flirt with you, he wouldn’t live to talk about it afterwards.

“Car’s ready, boss. Head down and it’s in the rear garage. I’ll be down five minutes afterwards. Better for security.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Moriarty sighs, brushing his jeans off. “God I can’t wait to be out of these clothes. The things I do for you Mina.”

“I like them,” you shrug as you pass him to walk down the stairs.

He looks a bit surprised before breaking out into a grin, “Wicked little Mina, aren’t you? I saw where your eyes went.”

“I wasn’t exactly hiding where they were,” you call back over your shoulder and you hear him speak to Conrad.

“She likes me. It’s official now.”

Then he follows you, getting into the rear of the car with the tinted windows Conrad always seems to favour driving before placing a hand on your leg and squeezing.

“Big decision, hmm?” he notes your face.

“You don’t have to analyse me like a child,” you raise an eyebrow. “I’m well aware of what just happened.”

“You’re very fiery,” he smirks. “I’m so glad I brought it out of you.”

You say nothing but just stare out of the window as you drive away from Baker Street, wondering if this truly is the last time you’ll leave.

 

**  
  


At Moriarty’s house, he wastes no time in bringing you upstairs, grandiosely opening the bedroom door where you see many candles, flowers in ornate stone pots dripping their blossoms towards the plush carpet and champagne by the bedside.

“For me?” you ask.

“Of course,” he kisses the back of your hand. “I put the effort in, Mina. I like it when you’re happy.”

“And what if I didn’t come with you?”

He declines to answer but you know a few possible outcomes.

“Don’t spoil it. Just  _enjoy_  it,” he pulls you forward so you’re flush against him.

When music starts from nowhere, you suspect this is not an entirely private affair. It’s some sort of 40s slow dance, jazz genre maybe. He just gently swaying with you, his eye contact never wavering.

“Just let go, Mina,” he whispers against your ear, starting to make bigger movements. “Be as it was in the masquerade ball. You were so beautiful, so radiant. Sherlock’s dampened some of your passion but I want to get it back.”

“He didn’t dampen anything,” you counter. “He-”

“Yes yes, he’s all  _order_ ,” Moriarty sneers before twirling you out and back. “I miss the woman who leapt off a building with me with no guarantee that she’d survive. Is she still in there?”

You break off from him abruptly and his eyes flash for a moment.

“Do I always have to push myself to the extreme limit around you?” you ball your fists. “I thought you were becoming different. I thought you were embracing the fact I need normal as well as excitement. I can’t always be firing on all cylinders, Jim. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to live like that.”

“Oooo she has a tongue,” Moriarty chuckles. “What do you think I’m trying to do? I’m giving you a nice night of dancing and champagne. Do you not want that? Do you want Sherlock’s  _chips_  instead?”

You snap, shoving him backwards.

“Stop saying that!” you yell.

“Why? Because it’s true?” he presses. “You just want a boring life with boring Sherlock in that boring flat of his? Eating chips and ice cream? Was it vanilla flavoured by any chance?”

“Why are you so hateful about it?!”

He pushes you back in response and your childish nature starts kicking in, both of you trying to throw the other one onto their arse on the floor. You wrestle, ripping parts of his t-shirt in the process. All the pent up frustration at being in the centre of Moriarty and Sherlock’s affections just spilling out until there was nothing left but rage.

You couldn’t process anything any more. There was only the desire to wipe that jealous smirk off Moriarty’s face as you manage to sweep his legs out, using his own body weight to tip him back onto the carpet where you fall ungracefully on top of him, still wildly tearing at him.

“Why?!” you shout, your hands coming around his neck and you’re too far gone to realise what you’re doing.

He’s riled you up in seconds and he knows it.

“Go oooooon,” he grins,  the noise a bit choked. “You like it, don’t you, Mina? You like the fleeting glimpse of control, the power of life or death. You could kill me right now and end all your problems.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” you release him a little.

“Because really, deep down, you want someone else to be in control,” Moriarty notes, his hands resting on your thighs before he flips you under him so quickly you’re disorientated for a moment. “Deep down, little Mina wants to be mine. Don’t you? Ohhhh that little display showed me alright. You don’t  _really_  want boring Sherlock. You still have a fire in your soul for  _me_.”

He looks almost maniacal in the flickering light, the intense gaze boring into yours.

“Shut up.”

“I bet if I checked your underwear right now you’d be soaked for me,” he teases, rolling his hips against yours. “Because I’m still what gets you off at night, sweetheart. I’m still that fantasy on your lips as you fuck yourself in the small hours. You’re mine and you’re no one else’s.”

“Fucking check them then,” you hiss, tired of his assumptions. You certainly didn’t feel aroused, just a keen sense of defiance and anger.

He grabs your hair by the root and pulls your face up, “Oh I will, and I’ll do something about it too.”

Then he’s ripping your clothes away, tearing with a strength that you really wouldn’t have guessed from his physical stature. In response, you’re wrenching the last of his t-shirt apart, the jeans a little trickier until he gets impatient and helps you along.

“I didn’t realise you’d be checking  _my_  underwear too,” he smirks. “You’ve never felt the goods before, have you sweetheart?”

Then his hand is between your legs and you’re incensed to feel how smoothly his fingers glide across your folds. Fuck, you didn’t expect him to actually be right….

“Tell me I’m a genius,” he baits you. “Little Mina, wanton as anything.”

You respond by palming his cock through his boxers and he jerks a little in surprise at the sudden touch. As you form your hand around him though, there’s this guttural growl that starts in the back of his throat.

“Says you,” you retort. “Bet it just makes you fucking hard that I fight back, that I don’t roll over easily and that someone else wants me too.”

“You little bitch,” he groans against your ear. “You’re so fucking right. Then again, I think you like the attention.”

You turn, biting his earlobe and he gives a short hiss before turning and capturing your lips. There’s a feral fight for dominance as your hands grasp each other, pawing, mauling at any part of each other you could. Scratches were left in the wake, bloodied dots across the skin as two weeks of tension finally broke.

His fingers slid into you, curled at just the right point to make you moan but still he didn’t stop his brutal assault on your person, still kissing with a hunger you’d never known.

You in turn, manage to push his boxers down, finally make skin contact with him and the noises he kept making were something you’d only even seen in the most extreme kinds of porn.

“Is this what you wanted, Mina?” he rasps, never breaking rhythm. “Did you want me all along?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you’re growing tired of his insecure questions. “Now get back here.”

The kisses are messier, a little more savage. He’s leaving little bite marks across your neck as he moves down a little, claiming ownership.

He drags his fingers back up, playing with your clit as you use your hand on him, both spurring each other on to have a faster and faster pace until you hit your peak before he does, screaming with abandon now you know you can’t be heard by any one as you jerk with the spasms.

You let go of Moriarty who lines himself up against your entrance, pressing slightly so there’s pressure but keeping himself perfectly still.

Something should be yelling in the back of your brain that this was the limit, that you needed to stop here but your body wasn’t listening, your body was just craving to be filled and take your fill of him. Your hips rolled forward ever so slightly, minutely but it was enough that he ended up slipping slightly inside you.

“Oh god, Mina,” he purrs, taking it as a sign before he rams the whole length of his cock forward.

All you can think about is how good it feels as he grabs your thigh, hooking it over his elbow, bruising you with how hard he digs his fingers in as he starts fucking you at much the same pace as he’s already set.

Your hands grip the back of his head, pulling at the short hairs as he growls, rutting with animalistic ferocity that borders on the right side of painful.

Then he stops all of a sudden.

“What are you doing?” you ask, panting with the exertion.

“Do you still want this?” he asks. “Once I finish, there’s no going back sweetheart.”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” you buck your hips up to meet his and he still grins victoriously.

“Oh you are divine,” he croons, fucking harder than before. “Say it. Say you’re Mina Moriarty.”

“No!”

A punishing thrust, “Say it!”

“No!”

“SAY IT!”

“Fuck! I’m Mina Moriarty.”

“Oh sweet fucking music to my ears…”

You’re a mess of cries, yells and whines as he takes his fill of you, controls you, uses you. This was everything you’d imagined in those night time hours.

Then he pushes forward, the full length hilted into you as he cums hard, swearing profusely before finally he’s at ease.

“My my, didn’t think you’d crack first,” he laughs.

“You said it was nearly over anyway,” you shrug. “And I wanted it.”

“And it was  _worth_  it,” he growls in contentment. “Oh so worth it.”

He moves off you, lying next to you in the plush carpeting, just staring at the ceiling. He becomes deep in thought but you don’t interrupt him. You’re too busy in your own thoughts.

Shit, you finally caved. You chose Moriarty. This was it now. A moment of mad lust and your choice was made forever.

You catch him staring at you, an almost unreadable expression before he just tucks you into the side of him and seems to fall asleep. Without much notion of what was going on, you just gave in to sleep yourself.

I mean, it was late after all.

 

**

 

When you awoke, you were on the bed, tucked under the expensive sheets as Moriarty was at his desk, typing away on a laptop.

“You sleep very heavily you know,” he notes, turning towards you.

“I was very tired,” you sit up.

“I’m going to take you somewhere today,” he stands up, in nothing but a velvet smoking jacket. “Somewhere I own. You’ll like it. It’s a theatre. It’s cultured.”

“A theatre? Sounds nice actually.”

“Get dressed, Conrad will drive us. We’ll get breakfast after.”

Well it didn’t seem all bad having left Baker Street. You still got a pang of guilt over the whole thing though. I mean you’d basically vanished after Sherlock had declared his feelings for you. You were sure that will have hurt him a lot.

You pushed it out of your mind, desperate not to think about it as you dressed in the clothes that Moriarty had brought over from your flat and met him downstairs.

During the drive, he was uncharacteristically silent, brooding even. You wondered if maybe things had changed between you since you’d capitulated the game but just before you got out of the car on the other end, he grabbed for you, kissing you softly before walking in.

He was right. The theatre was grand. It had rows of luxurious seating in the gallery, the circle tier and the god tier. Gold balustrades littered the main concourse with a high red velvet curtain on the main stage.

Moriarty wanders to the front before walking up the steps onto the stage and beckoning for you to follow. You’re wondering why.

When you reach it, he’s looking at his watch, impatiently tapping it.

“Is something supposed to happen?” you ask.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. We’re meeting someone,” he says distractedly before appearing to look at something in the circle tier, flashing a thumbs up.

The lights that fall on the main stage make it impossible to see who he’s giving a gesture to.

Then the rear doors open with a crash and a whirl of grey speeds down the aisles, coming to a stop before the stage.

“You got my message!” Moriarty yells with delight, throwing his arms out wide. “Welcome, welcome Sherlock.”

Fuck.

You’re just staring at Sherlock who seems desperately resolute as he’s looking at Moriarty with pure hatred.

“Let her go. This is between you and me.”

“Welllll…..it is  _now_ ,” Moriarty shrugs. “And do you really think she didn’t come with me willingly? Oh come on, you must have had your suspicions she still liked me.”

“Besides the point,” Sherlock clambers onto the stage. “Let her go. I’ll stay.”

“God you’re like the girl who kept getting turned down for the school disco,” Moriarty rolls his eyes dramatically. “I don’t  _care_  any more. My game with you is over as soon as you see what I have to show you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, feeling your stomach sink lower and lower.

You just got the worst feeling of dread right now.

“Lights! Curtains! Action!” Moriarty cackles as he moves backwards with an ostentatious bow.

The curtains draw back to reveal a huge projector screen. Then the tape starts rolling and your world just collapses.

It’s footage of you and Moriarty having sex.

“What the fuck?!” you cry. “Why the fuck would you do this?!”

You don’t want to look at Sherlock, god knows you don’t but you can’t help it. He looks a mixture of crushed and resigned.

“And thus my game with you ends Sherlock,” Moriarty says in glee. “I made you love something so much that it destroyed you to take it away.”

“Was that all this was?” you breathe, feeling sick. “I was just a pawn in your game with him?”

Still Sherlock says nothing but his jaw is set so hard it look like he’s going to break it. His fingernails are biting into the palm of his hands as he just can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the images on the screen.

“Oh no, don’t be like that,” Moriarty pouts. “It was genuine, Mina. You just lost  _our_  game. I win.”

“You fucking bastard!” you’re shaking so violently, feeling so betrayed and so horrendously guilty at what Sherlock is having to witness. “You manipulative cunt! You kept playing my emotions!”

“For what it’s worth Mina, I really did enjoy last night and I hoped it would make me happy but you see, I could read in your face that you’d never truly be with me forever. Your loyalty was split and your feelings for Sherlock, however small, were still there. I would never been number one. Baker Street would always call you back. So disappointing, Mina.”

You don’t even know how to respond. You’re just looking between Sherlock and Moriarty like this was some sort of horrible dream and you’d wake up any second.

Moriarty walks up to you, cupping your face and giving your cheek a delicate kiss before stepping back, “So I guess that’s it. I win every game. How boring.”

He steps back further before tucking his hands in his pockets and giving a sheepish grin to you, “You know, I really did love you Mina.”

He finally said it, just as he ruined everything in your life, he finally said it.

Then he pulled a pistol from his pocket rapidly and shot himself in the head.

 

You screamed in fright as his body hit the floor, that demented grin etched into his face for all eternity and you were just left looking at Sherlock, poor broken Sherlock who couldn’t even meet your gaze properly as the film with Moriarty just endlessly looped in the background.

 

_He won, I lost. I lost everything….._


	22. Who Wins? - Ending 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who Wins? - Ending 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst/Violence/Smut
> 
> A/N: Please comment on your favourite chapter and let me know which you liked. It’s been a fantastic journey with you guys and this has become my favourite fic to write ever. I’ve loved all your comments and theories so much along the way <3
> 
> To think, I started it just on a whim!

“Was that a confession I heard?” comes a voice from underneath your bed as Moriarty rolls out. “Oh no no nooooo, that won’t do at all.”

You don’t respond, too stunned to. In truth, it was the last thing you expected Sherlock to do.

“Are you listening to me? Hellloooooo?” Moriarty walks over, waving a hand in front of your eyes. Then he gets impatient and grabs you by the collar so you’re startled into meeting his gaze. “Are you ignoring me now, Mina?”

“I need to think,” you almost growl at him.

The pressure was too much. How on earth were you supposed to process what had happened if Moriarty was hovering over you and making you feel on edge?

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m boring you, hmm?” he replies coldly before yanking you to your feet. “Would you like some more alone time with Sherlock? Did you not have enough fun playing detective? Maybe you’d like to play lovers next.”

The tone is playful but you can see the loathing glint in his eye. He truly was insanely jealous and Sherlock’s admission was starting to unhinge him. You knew the situation was becoming dangerous and you felt a spike of fear for the first time in weeks.

“Please, I just need space,” you try.

“Don’t you love me, Mina?” he backs you against the door, completely trapping you there with his body. “I didn’t think this was a two horse race, not really. Do I have something to truly be worried about?”

“I just need a quiet moment. It’s been a long fucking day,” your temper is fraying now.

“Something’s changed,” he stares at you, almost acidly. “I don’t enjoy it.”

“Jim, enough,” you push back. “Go upstairs, let me sleep.”

“No no no,” he shakes his head, first almost laughing to himself and then he clamps his mouth together harshly like he’s trying to hold back emotions before finally the dam bursts. “I can’t believe I’m losing to  _fucking Sherlock._ This is not supposed to happen.”

“Go to bed,” you say more firmly, desperate to just rest.

He grabs you by the hair, making you inhale sharply with the pain before almost pleadingly looking at you, “Why don’t you want me any more, hmm? Was I not good enough sweetheart? I see you turning away from me and oh…oh my little Mina I don’t fucking like it one bit.”

“Get off me!” you hiss.

“Choose,” he gets in your face. “Come with me now or else.”

“Or else what?” you challenge.

“Little little blind Mina,” he taunts you. “Did you think I didn’t have a contingency plan? It was a very miniscule chance that Sherlock would start winning but oh, I planned for it. Do you know what I did when you and Sherlock had your ice cream? I went downstairs into 221B. Guess what I did, Mina? Guess?”

“I don’t know? Rooted around his wardrobe or something?” you fire back as quietly as you could.

He slaps you hard across the face, “Don’t be a cheeky mare with me, Mina. I’m not in the mood for it. Guess properly or we’re going to have problems.”

“You set a trap for him?”

“Something more permanent. Think.”

Then your stomach drops out. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“Yessss,” he croons sadistically, his eyes sparkling. “You understand now, don’t you?”

“You rigged the flat to explode,” you whisper in absolute terror.

“Bingo,” he grins. “So, make your choice Mina. You can either come with me like you’re meant to, like you promised…remember? Mina Moriarty? Or you can try your luck and see how far you’ll get running downstairs to tell Sherlock before I set the trigger off. I’m not playing any more, Mina. I’m tired of this. I refuse to lose.”

“What even  _is_  your bloody game with him?!” you squeak. “Does he even know?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Moriarty shrugs. “If he can’t work it out, that’s his problem. But do you want to know, Mina? Truly?”

“Yes.”

He leans in to whisper in your ear, “The game is to make Sherlock fall in love with you and see if I can keep  _your_  love. I don’t appear to be doing too well despite all of my efforts so tactics have to change, you see.”

“Blowing Baker Street up isn’t going to endear me to you. Quite the opposite.”

“I’m past the point of caring,” he snarls. “This is as much our game as it is mine and his. You have a choice to make, Mina. It will tell me all I need to know.”

It wasn’t much of a choice in your eyes. Either you went with him or Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson would die. You could never live with yourself if you tried to save them fruitlessly. Going with Moriarty was the only guaranteed way to keep them alive.

“Let’s go,” you almost whisper.

“Smart girl,” he croons, kissing your cheek before patting you on it. “Up the ladder then.”

He waits for you to start moving first. He wasn’t playing around any more. Very clearly Moriarty had delved even further into obsessive madness.

You walk to the hatch but not before you ‘accidentally’ walk into your coffee table, knocking a cup of tea over onto the carpet.

“Shit,” you fake panic but Moriarty just rolls his eyes before grabbing your elbow and steering you to the loft.

You hoped that might send enough of a message to Sherlock that something had happened to you, that you’d not left him willingly. You couldn’t imagine the pain he would feel if he truly believed after his confession that you’d gone with Moriarty despite of it.

_In truth, I didn’t even push him away, did I? When he kissed me? And I’m worrying about how he’ll perceive this…._

All of it was drawing to a messier conclusion than you would’ve like.

You harboured feelings of your own for Sherlock, however early stages they were and looking at Moriarty now, there was less of the fiery passion that had once been all consuming. You could think a bit more clearly.

As he took you up into the loft and through a crawl space, you met Conrad on the other end who smiled genially at you as you stood up in the new attic. It was musty, smelling of yellowing books and fading camera film.

“Hey Mina,” Conrad waves.

“No talking,” Moriarty snaps. “Butler to position.”

Instantly the smile faded to a more professional exterior, “Yes boss.”

You swear Conrad gave you a worried look. He was used to seeing a different kind of dynamic between you two and the frostiness that occupied it instead was painfully obvious.

You’re almost shoved downstairs by Moriarty who seems incredibly impatient to reach wherever you were going. Then you got in a car and drove for what seemed like only a few minutes before you exited into the hospital car park where Molly worked.

“Rooftop,” he says curtly.

So you and he awkwardly got into a lift before you stumbled out into the cold night air, London twinkling all around you in a haze of streetlights and neon takeaway signs. On instinct you stayed far away from the edge though.

Moriarty just starts making a phone call, pacing up and down fervently whilst he waits for it to connect before he stops, his eyes widening as someone picks up, “Helllllo babe. Only little old me. Did you miss me? I missed you. Tell you what, you’ve been quite keen to end this quickly, haven’t you? Our little game? Why don’t you come to St Bartholomew’s and join me stargazing, hmm? What was that? Oh Mina? Yes, yes I have her. Of course I do. Old news. Join us, Sherlock. Ta ta.”

Then he hangs up, taking a deep breath before advancing on you, grabbing you roughly by the waist before pushing himself against you, “You’ve made everything so difficult, Mina. What more could I possibly do? I gave you luxury, I gave you adventure, I gave you danger, I gave you passion.”

“You also gave me a criminal record, made me jobless, made me homeless, almost psychologically broke me and you’re wondering why I’m apprehensive when you threaten to blow up my friends?”

“Fair point,” he looks skyward, pursing his lips. “That may have been a misstep but Mina, I truly couldn’t let Sherlock take you away from me. It would kill me. Do you understand?”

And then the pang of longing crept back in. Just as easily as Moriarty frightened you, you also felt pity for him, you were allowing yourself to listen to his romantic declarations again.

“All I ever wanted since the moment I met you was  _you_ ,” he continues his frenzied admission.”I didn’t think by starting this game it would potentially end with you not wanting me any more. I was too arrogant to see the risk, too blinded by the notion  we were destined to find each other.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you look up at him. “Drop the rivalry with Sherlock, you don’t need to play the villain here. You’re orchestrating this so Sherlock looks the hero.”

“Of course!” he slaps his head. “And I’ve made you the damsel in distress. How idiotic of me! You see things sometimes Mina, things I miss. This is why I need you.”

“You  _need_  to stay away from her,” comes a cold voice and you turn to see Sherlock standing in the doorway.

“Oh bore off,” Moriarty rolls his eyes. “I called you here to finally get this done.”

“Mina, Mina I got your message,” Sherlock’s gaze flicks to yours.

“Message?” Moriarty seems outraged. “You left Sherlock a message?!”

“The spilled tea,” Sherlock moves towards you. “Mina would never leave a mess like that uncleaned.”

Moriarty’s hand comes around your throat in an instant, holding firmly before walking you back towards the edge.

“Stop!” Sherlock cries.

“I just emotionally puked my guts out to you, Mina,” Moriarty hisses accusingly. “I’m made myself  _vulnerable_  and all the while you were leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for  _him_. I told you to make a choice and you didn’t listen.”

You’re actually scared now. He seems angrier than you ever remember him and you don’t think you can placate him by playing affectionate.

“Stop it,” you plead.

“Moriarty, leave her. Take me instead. It’s me you want,” Sherlock opens his arms. “Isn’t it? I’m your rival, aren’t I? See, I understand what the game is. The game is who can win her, right?”

“Naturally,” Moriarty sighs exasperatedly.

“So take me out and you won’t have any more issues.”

You try and motion with your eyes how insane that plan is but he merely glances for a moment at you before continuing to move forward.

“I don’t need to, you buffoon,” Moriarty sneers. “I’ll destroy you with one little sentence.”

“You mean the fact you were in Baker Street the whole time and you did something sexual with Mina?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “I’m not deaf, Moriarty and you’re not very careful. I kept seeing bits of loft insulation around her flat and mine. Also her bedroom is above mine and the chances of the porn on the TV having a man named 'Jim’ is very coincidental, although judging by your non-victorious face, you didn’t have sex. Probably one sided. I’m aware and I don’t blame her. You’ve manipulated her from the start, Moriarty. You’ve ruined her life and you want to tear down everything that is wonderful about her to make her into you. I won’t let you so let’s end this, just you and me.”

“Yeah, okay then,” Moriarty turns from you, one hand still on your neck whilst the other fetches a pistol from his jacket.

You freak out, seeing him raise the gun towards Sherlock’s head and punch him in the side, jamming his hand upwards so the pistol discharges into the air.

“Mina! Run!” Sherlock yells at you but you’re locked in a struggle with Moriarty who’s fighting for control of the gun.

Sherlock runs forward, joining in the affray and you get punched in the face by an unknown fist and stagger backwards, dropping to the floor as they wrestle each other. Moriarty manages to knock Sherlock away and time slows as you see his triumphant grinning face as he brandishes the weapon, ready to fire.

“NO!” you scream, jumping up and rugby tackling him.

You both stumble, the gun clattering to the floor as you reach the precipice. Moriarty grabs at your clothes, hanging on whilst you firmly plant your feet to stop you from going over the edge. He’s clinging on, looking down at the sheer drop whilst giggling.

“Mina!” Sherlock starts scrambling towards you but Moriarty just won’t stop laughing.

“Like old times,” he grins. “If I go, you go with me, Mina. We go together. This is the way it was meant to be!”

He jumps up, using gravity and his body weight to pull you off the roof and you go over. You’re still fighting in mid air, trying to pull him underneath so you’ll have something to break your fall but the ground rushes up quicker than you expected and you just remember thinking that this is not how you wanted everything to end. This was not how you wanted to die.

 

**  
  


“Hush, John! She’s moving!” comes a distorted voice like you’re hearing it through water.

You open your eyes, blinking at the harsh fluorescent strip above you as you try and focus your gaze. Mrs Hudson gradually comes into focus as she beams at you.

“Hello Mina,” she smiles warmly. “Oh I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“I…survived?” you manage to croak out.

“Here,” John gets up, grabbing a glass of water with a straw in it so you can drink.

It feels like heaven to have something cold running down your throat and you greedily sip at it until you’re able to focus more on the room.

You’re in the hospital, Mrs Hudson and John sitting on your right and Sherlock is on the left of your bed, curled up in his great coat across two chairs fast asleep. Mycroft is in the corner with his arms folded.

“Oh him?” John notices you looking at Sherlock. “He’s been here for the past week. Can’t get him to come home.”

“A week?” you blink. “I’ve been here a week?”

Then you see the wires going in and out of you, feel the splint across your ribs and back and the heavy cast on your arm. One of your feet is strapped up as well.

“I feel terrible,” you murmur.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” John says grimly. “You broke five ribs, almost punctured your lung, broke your wrist and shunted your ankle bone out of place. Not to mention general bruising.”

“Moriarty?” you ask and both of them fall silent before John finally pipes up.

“Dead. Killed in the fall. You…uh….you landed on top of him. It kept you alive. Your head didn’t hit the ground at all.”

“Dead, huh?” you roll that around. “Good. It’s over.”

“You’re alright with that, are you?” John probes gently.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say with no hesitation. “He was going to kill all of you. He said he’d rigged 221B to explode and then tried to shoot Sherlock. I’m not sad. I feel….relieved. I can breathe again.”

“We’ve deactivated the devices by the way,” Mycroft interjects.

“Do you believe I’m a double agent now?” you fire at him.

“No,” he has the good grace to look ashamed. “As you rightly pointed out, even I was fooled by James Moriarty so I believed what I wanted to believe but you saved my dear little brother of mine, Miss Pevensey, for that I owe you my thanks. Satellite CCTV corroborates your story. You went off the roof for him.”

He gives a glance to the still sleeping Sherlock.

“That’s twice now and I’m not getting a taste for it,” you joke.

“Ohhh very good Mina,” Mrs Hudson giggles. “Can we get you anything?”

“Bottle of Tizer would be good,” you groan in pain as you attempt to sit up.

“No, don’t do that,” John warns. “You’re still healing. Come along, Mrs Hudson, let’s leave her for a little while.”

They exit the room leaving just you, Sherlock and Mycroft.

Mycroft approaches the bed before softly patting your shoulder, “I guess a sorry is in order.”

“No hard feelings. I did punch you twice after all.”

“Yes, and I fired my boxing trainer because of it,” Mycroft smiles wryly. “I’ll leave you and my brother alone. I’m sure you have a great many things to talk about.”

He goes to the door before hesitating and turning slowly, “Oh and, don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough.”

“I didn’t intend to,” you say honestly and Mycroft just nods before leaving.

You use your foot to slightly nudge Sherlock who just takes a wild breath before jerking upright. It takes him a moment to realise where he is before his eyes fall on you and he leans forward instantly.

“Mina!” he seems greatly relieved. “You’re awake.”

“I’m surprised to still be here,” you say truthfully. “I wasn’t expecting to survive that.”

“You stupid moron,” Sherlock hisses. “Why did you do that? I would rather have taken my chances with the bullet than seen that happen. I was afraid. Do you understand?”

“And I was afraid you’d get shot,” you counter. “I was afraid he would blow you up. I didn’t want him to hurt you so I went with him.”

“That’s the truth of it, I can see that,” he studies your face. “I knew you were under duress before. He wasn’t as clever as he thinks he was and you’re not a world class liar, Mina.”

“I just had this vision of him coming down and killing everyone in the night,” you look away. “I was too scared to say anything.”

“I know,” he reaches forward and takes your hand.

“Do you hate me?” you look up at him and he seems baffled.

“Hate you? Why?”

“I let Moriarty do things to me, sexual things, right above you. This was just before you told me how you feel.”

“No I don’t hate you,” he shakes his head softly. “Nor do I blame you. The human urge for procreation is extremely compelling and the fear of potentially being killed or having loved ones be killed doesn’t make for an entirely willing motivation.”

“But I enjoyed it,” you whisper.

“I could hear,” he says dryly. “If that was you being quiet I suggest getting soundproofing in the future. Look. I know you’ve had this magnetism with Moriarty from day one and us….bonding….was probably very confusing for you when you still had feelings for him. I could have been jealous, I could’ve been annoyed but when I kissed you, I felt how freed you were in that moment. Then the fact you left me a message only told me you didn’t actually want Moriarty’s life.”

“I just wanted to keep you all safe,” you look at your hands.

“And I failed to keep  _you_  safe,” Sherlock sighs, running his fingers through his unruly hair. “I thought I had more time to enact my counter plan but I guess me stating what I did prompted a more extreme reaction than I thought it could’ve.”

“It  _was_  genuine though, right?” you question, looking straight at him. “This wasn’t one of your undercover ploys?”

“Yes Mina,” he says unerringly. “Without a shadow of doubt, it was genuine. I enjoyed my non celebratory birthday with you immensely. I enjoy  _you_  immensely. I think I frightened John in how fast I tore out of Baker Street.”

“I suspect Mrs Hudson’s told him from the way he looked at me,” you laugh to yourself.

“Obviously,” Sherlock smiles a little. “This  _is_  Mrs Hudson we’re talking about. You have no idea how odious the conversation has been whilst you’ve been out. They’re talking about us like we’re a married couple.”

“I bet she’d love that,” you roll your eyes. “Generations of our friendship group in Baker Street forever.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Sherlock chuckles to himself before standing up. “I’d best get back, I’ve still got some appointments with Lestrade to sort through.”

The way he’s carrying himself, you know something’s up. He’s not meeting your gaze any more and his body language has compacted in on itself.

“What happened after I fell?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Please be honest with me. I can see something’s not right.”

Sherlock heaves a great sigh, “You both actually survived the fall. I ran down to come get you. There was no one around at that point of the hospital at night so I was alone when I found you. Moriarty had taken the brunt of the landing but was still alive. You were unconscious. He kept boasting that he’d taken you away from me forever.”

“But John said Moriarty died.”

“He did…..he did after I’d finished with him,” There was a dark look to Sherlock’s features before he finally met your gaze again. “Please don’t any less of me but-”

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. “Thank you. You freed me. I don’t think I could’ve killed him myself though I wanted to a couple of times.”

“It was quick,” is all Sherlock says. “I’ll be back for you later. I want to run my new blog post by you.”

He hesitates for a moment, unsure about what to do before finally settling on leaning down and kissing your forehead. You grab him by the shirt collar and pull him further down though, meeting him in a soft kiss.

“I hope it’s more entertaining than 'Nautical knots of Western Europe’,” you say shyly as he blusters for a moment.

“Um…well….yes, I would think so,” he blushes a little, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “Very good. Until later.”

 

**  
  


As Sherlock walked out, his heart was in his mouth.

You’d chosen him. The instant he’d confessed his feelings, you’d actually chosen him and you hadn’t wavered. Moriarty had tried but in the end, had to resort to cheap threats of violence to get you to go along with him.

He shuddered at the memory of finding you, bloodied and broken looking, on top of Moriarty in the disused hospital car park, Moriarty’s arms still clutching your top in a vice grip as he wheezed.

“I took her with me,” Moriarty laughed when he got closer. “I took her with me and you can’t have her. Game over, I win.”

“She’s still alive,” Sherlock notes the movement of your body as you breathe shallowly. “You did nothing.”

“I can fix that,” Moriarty grins, his teeth bloodied as he manages to pull a flick knife out of his trouser pocket. “If I can’t have her, Sherlock, you sure as fuck can’t.”

Sherlock dived on you, shielding your body as he took a stabbing graze to his arm before twisting the knife out of Moriarty’s grip and throwing it away. He moved your unconscious form off of the consulting criminal before clambering on top of him, hands around his neck.

“You haven’t got the balls, Sherlock,” Moriarty cackles,flecks of blood spurting out as he laughed. “I’ll always be there, I’ll always come after her. I’ll turn her back eventually and when I do, I’ll make sure to fuck her ragged night after night and send you videos. That’s the closest you’ll ever get to being inside her. That’s the- _hckhgh_.”

Sherlock was pressing down, his fingers digging into Moriarty’s throat, strangling the words before they could fully form. Moriarty was still active but he was weak right now, his body dashed to pieces and he couldn’t put up much of a fight.

His face turned red before slowly morphing into an ugly shade of puce. He was retching, scrabbling at Sherlock’s hands but Sherlock never let go. His anger and his hatred took over as all rational thought left him and only the image of your twisted body was remaining, fuelling his rage.

“She chose  _me_ ,” Sherlock snarls in Moriarty’s face. “ _I_  win.”

In his dying moments, Moriarty looked furious as he made one last ditch effort to hurt Sherlock, to tear at his eyes, to push him away but the movements faltered, the hands fell limply to the side and he became very still.

Still Sherlock didn’t let go, knowing the body could survive even at this point. He needed to keep pressing for just a bit longer. He needed to make sure Moriarty was never getting up again, could never hurt you again.

And then it was done.

He released Moriarty with a shuddering gasp before crawling to you, stroking strands of matted hair out of your face, hands shaking as he scooped you up in his arms, running towards the hospital entrance.

He burst into the A&E department, yelling like a madman.

“Help! Help me! She’s dying!” he called out until a nurse came over and then grabbed a doctor from a nearby office.

A team rushed to surround the two of you until a crash cart was being wheeled over.

“Please help me,” Sherlock feels a tear running down his face as he can feel your breaths getting shallower and shallower.

He couldn’t lose you, not when he’d just found love for the first time.

_Please._

 

_**_

 

“Welcome home,” Sherlock guides you back up to your flat. “I cemented off the loft and remade the wardrobe elsewhere. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No that’s great actually,” you smile. “Makes me feel a bit better.”

You’d been in the hospital for two months and you were so glad to be home. John was unfortunately working and you had the sneaking suspicion that Sherlock had told Mrs Hudson to keep away.

“That’s all I care about,” Sherlock smiles back at you. “Cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely,” you sigh.

“Mine has two sugars. Chop chop,” Sherlock says deadpan until you realise he’s actually joking. “Oh come on, Mina. I’m not that selfish.”

“You used to be,” you point out.

“Not any more,” Sherlock takes you by the waist, holding you gently and embracing you. “Not since you.”

“You flatter a girl,” you snort inelegantly.

“When have you ever known me to flatter?” he rolls his eyes.

“That is true,” you hum.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says, a little quietly and you can see the sadness brewing in his gaze. “I’ve…I’ve missed you.”

“Well I’m here now,” you place your hands on his chest.

“Yes you are.”

The last thing you expected was for Sherlock to take the lead considering how shy he’d been in the hospital whenever he’d visit you but it seems in the safety of Baker Street, he became more self assured.

He leaned down, cupping your jaw before kissing you with an intent, an intent for something beyond gratefulness. Comparing this to Moriarty is so different. Sherlock had a sense of self confidence that didn’t tip over into arrogance or a show of dominance. He just simply was in control as he pulled you closer to him.

“Told you, I’m not inept, I’m just-”

“Embarrassed to do PDA?” you guess.

“Yes…well….exactly,” he nods. “Not like I’ve ever had a partner for anything other than show or for a case. This is still new to me.”

“I’m not pushing anything Sherlock, you know?” you smile at him. “I’m just content to see how this develops. I wasn’t really expecting to start having romantic feelings for you when I first came here.”

“I know. I’m just reminding you so when I do what I’ll do next, you’re going to be terribly impressed,” he grins,  a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What-”

But you don’t get to finish your sentence. He’s scooped you up like some Jane Austen heroine before taking you to the bed and lying you reverently on it. He lies next to you, reigniting the kiss before his hands delicately wander over your body.

Whatever you expected Sherlock to do, it wasn’t this. You were totally in the dark about whether he even had desires like this.

“May I?” he asks like a gentleman, motioning to your top and you agree, him lifting your top over your head ever so softly, still careful of your remaining injuries. He looks at them before pressing his forehead to yours. “I promise I will always protect you.”

“I know you will.”

After all, he’d killed the man who’d pulled you off a building. You knew he would keep you safe from now on.

The kiss, to your surprise, is becoming more and more heated. You’re responding by letting your fingers wander under his shirt and he makes a noise like a little stifled groan which you love.

“Take it off,” you pant and he does so gracefully, not presuming to take any further items of clothing off though. “All of it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Show me yours if I’m going to show you mine, Mina.”

“I intend to,” you smirk.

You’re a little clumsier about your own clothing but he helps you, until finally the two of you were bare, heat radiating from both of your bodies as you have skin to skin contact for the first time.

The arousal is so different to what you’re used to with Moriarty. There’s no frenzied anger behind it, it’s just a slow burn of intense feeling and you’re desperate to go further.

Sherlock’s hands travel down your torso, skipping lightly over your mound before confidently delving into the burgeoning wetness there, two fingers easing into you as you moan into his mouth. He must have done his research because he moved with such precision, always knowing how much pressure to use, when to pick up his pace, his mouth travelling to your breast and his tongue running small circles around your nipple as he played with you.

You felt so lavished upon, his attentions completely for you, not trying to exert any control, just enjoying you for enjoyment’s sake. You caught him several times groaning along with you, like he was getting off on this too.

Then your orgasm started to crest as his ministrations started centring on your clit, delicately working you up more and more until you felt the wave ride over you and you cried out his name.

“Sounds better than 'Jim’ I suppose,” he chuckles to himself as you push him slightly in the chest.

“Don’t remind me,” you scowl.

“I won’t because I want to hear you say that again. I liked it.”

Every time you think you’ve figured Sherlock out, he surprises you. There was a dark hood of lust in his eyes and you realise you’ve sorely underestimated his private desires. Turns out Sherlock Holmes was quite sexual after all.

“Well I was impressed,” you feed his ego, knowing he hasn’t had much experience really.

“Told you,” he kisses you softly before lining himself up with your entrance. “At the risk of sounding frightfully dull, I love you Mina.”

“I love you Sherlock.”

Then he eased himself gently into you. He was a lot bigger than you expected but he was patient, only pushing when he knew you were comfortable until finally he was hilted in you. He just gazes at you with adoration for a moment before starting a rhythm.

You could probably say this was the sweetest sex you’d ever had but there was an undercurrent of something wilder to him that you’re sure would come out in due time. He was holding himself back to make sure he didn’t hurt you.

You crossed your legs over his back as he held you close to him, always kissing you like he was desperate not to lose the contact. Your hands came to stroke his hair as he moved within you, drawing all sorts of whimpers and whines which spurred him on.

He drives particularly deep into you, a low groan which you find incredibly attractive before spilling into you, then just wrapping you tightly in his arms.

“I hope that was alright,” he whispers against you. “It’s been a few years.”

“It was perfect,” you kiss his forehead. “Best welcome home ever.”

“Come along, the night is not done yet,” Sherlock squeezes you before giving you a robe and dressing in one himself before taking you down to 221B. “John’s out for the night. We won’t be disturbed.”

The fire is already roaring and he sits with you on the floor like you did when you got chips, wrapping his long legs around you, cuddling you from behind as he just holds you softly, more content than you’ve ever known him.

You look into the fire, a placid sigh escaping you before noting there’s something at the edge of the coals. It seems like….it was the corner piece from the frame of Moriarty’s painting, blackened slightly against the licking flames, the rest of the painting having already burned away.

The last link to your time with Moriarty….not that it mattered one iota to you, as you sat there with Sherlock, just watching the time go by and gently kissing into the small hours of the night as Sherlock occasionally played his violin for you.


	23. Double M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the events of Ending 2 - In the aftermath of Moriarty’s suicide, Sherlock finds himself with an enemy he can’t fathom and they just might be gunning for you next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, smut, violence, unhealthy relationships
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

He didn’t understand it.

Sherlock Holmes didn’t understand how all these heists were happening around London and he didn’t have a damn clue what was going on.

John was on the receiving end of his bad mood, having a cane thrown at his head on a particularly bad day when the Rosetta Stone was taken from right under his nose when he was staking out the British Museum.

“For god’s sake, Sherlock!” John scowls angrily. “What on  _earth_  is wrong with you?!”

“It’s frustrating. I’m frustrated,” Sherlock says blankly, looking at the fire.

“This isn’t like you to not instantly get something straight away and then boast about how clever you are,” John sinks into the armchair opposite. “Is something throwing you off?”

“It’s just random,” Sherlock’s muttering to himself. “Random people, no connection but there  _must_  be a connection. I know there is.”

“And what if it’s just a lot of thieves who are feeling brave since Moriarty died?” John shrugs. “Might be trying to fill the vacuum.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock frowns. “This is definitely the work of one overarching mastermind but with Moriarty gone, I can’t think who it would be.”

John sighs before looking to Sherlock’s laptop where he has CCTV of you pottering about in your little garden.

“How is she doing today?” John asks.

“Planting some foxgloves but doing a terrible job of it,” Sherlock quickly glances over at the screen.

“Are you ever going to visit her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Too much history. Too much of the time where Sherlock opened himself up emotionally only to have it thrown back in his face. He still sometimes saw the video of you and Moriarty in his nightmares and your devastated face.

He wishes he could have the capacity to instantly forgive, to tell you he understood you made a mistake. Instead what he  _actually_  did that day was give a final look at Moriarty’s dead body and leave the theatre, leaving you behind.

He couldn’t let anyone know that the great Sherlock Holmes couldn’t cope with the rejection. Instead, he’d just found out your new home after you went to rebuild your life again and kept an eye on you. Best to view you through a looking glass than risk playing with fire again.

“You know why.”

“Sherlock, she was under a lot of duress, she was assaulted, almost killed and you’re  _still_  angry she gave into Moriarty in those conditions?” John shakes his head. “The poor girl needs support. She needed  _us_ ”

“She’s doing just fine without me,” Sherlock mumbles, tearing his eyes away and back to his friend.

“Just please tell me where she is sometime,” John begs. “If you don’t want to go, fine, but I don’t want her to think we abandoned her.”

That’s probably exactly what you thought. What else  _could_  you think after Sherlock’s behaviour?

“She’s best left alone John,” Sherlock shakes his head. “We’ve done enough to ruin her life.”

Even though he secretly thought you’d ruined his. He’d never seen anything in the same light again and, as Irene had sympathetically informed him, he was experiencing heartbreak still. Useless emotion. Clouded his judgement.

John would never know how much he watched the outside camera on your house, waiting for any sign of you.

The phone rings but he’s too distracted watching you wipe your forehead and smearing a bit of earth on it. He’s almost catching his hand rising up, as if he can clean it away for you.

Six months and he was still reduced to school boy emotions. Mycroft would never let him hear the end of it if he knew.

“Of course,” he vaguely registers John saying before the phone is put down. “Sherlock, there’s been a development. Greg’s emailing you some photos now from the Tate Gallery.”

Sherlock stands up, clutching his tatty duvet cover around him and slouching off towards the desk, sitting with a soft ‘flump’. He impatiently taps his fingers on the wood, knowing Greg is probably fiddling with his new phone and failing at adding attachments.

Then it comes through and he’s scanning the pictures where a John William Waterhouse painting has been stolen,  _The Lady of Shalott._ He almost knocks over the stale cup of tea when he comes across image five.

Daubed on the back of the gallery wall in looping script but crudely done with runny paint are the initials:

**M.M.**

“Got something?” John must have noticed his expression.

“There,” he points, hoping he won’t have to explain it.

“Double M? You don’t think….but it can’t be?” John blinks, tabbing over to the CCTV feed where you were taking a drink. “She’s been there. She’s right there!”

“I know, John,” Sherlock huffs in irritation. “Mina Moriarty is the logical deduction to make from this but she’s not moved from the house all day.”

“So…someone is trying to frame her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see why they would. The Butler has gone dark for months so perhaps he’s trying to throw us off the scent.”

“Conrad? You think he’s the mastermind behind the thefts?”

“It’s a possibility,” Sherlock tents his fingers. “The other possibility is that this is an entirely new person. I mean when Moriarty graffitied the initials down Baker Street it wasn’t subtle. It made the news. Anyone could be piggybacking off Moriarty’s infamy.”

And that’s what irritated him most. He was still no wiser than when Greg had sent the photos over and he was incredibly angry that it’d made him think even more of you and your association to… _him_.

 

**

 

“Bank robbery,” Greg sighs, managing to look even more grey in the hair. “Right under our bleedin’ noses.”

“What was stolen?” John asks. “Diamonds?”

“No actually….emeralds and amethysts. Right unusual I gotta say. Market ain’t great for them right now.”

“They’re not for sale,” Sherlock says immediately. “They’re for display purposes like everything else.”

“Someone’s starting their own museum?” John looks bewildered.

“A collection. A rare collection and a fine collection.”

Purple….purple gemstones.  _His_  favourite colour was purple, hers was green. What did it mean though? Conrad didn’t strike him as nuanced enough to do something like this.

A horrible prickling started at the back of his neck as he rolled around an idea he was loathe to admit.

What if Moriarty wasn’t dead?

What if it was all for show, all to humiliate Sherlock and he was still running his criminal empire? But that would mean…..

“We need to go see Mina.”

“What? I thought you were dead against it?” John stands up. “Why the change of heart?”

“With all the facts considered and the evidence presented there is a very real chance Moriarty faked his own death.”

“Come off it,” Greg laughs. “You were there, you saw his brains blow out.”

“Or maybe I saw what he wanted me to see,” Sherlock sets his jaw grimly. “He was always a good showman.”

“But he was dead,” John frowns. “You checked him. He was dead.”

“I….I didn’t check him,” Sherlock admits. “I just left.”

“Paramedics picked up the body though,” Greg points out. “They  _definitely_  pronounced him dead.”

“Paramedics can be bought,” Sherlock stands up, grabbing trousers nearby. “I made a grave error in not checking him.”

“Understandable, Sherlock,” John tries to be kind. “You had had a nasty shock with that video.”

“Not an excuse. Emotions shouldn’t rule me. Come on, we need to check Mina. If he’s alive and just revealed himself, he might come for her.”

“I’ll drive, shall I?” Greg jangles his keys. “Ought to be charging you, I’m not a bleedin’ taxi service.”

“If you charged us you  _would_  be a taxi service,” Sherlock says dryly, pulling on his coat.

As much as he was dreading seeing you again, he knew he had to keep you safe. He wouldn’t let you go through Moriarty’s abuse again.

 

**

 

John knocks on the door because Sherlock is too much of a coward to do it.

It takes you a while since you were still in the garden but when you open the door, your eyes go wide at seeing them all.

You’re dressed in overalls with dirt on the knees and your hair swept back into a ponytail. The earth on your face was still there and Sherlock had to restrain himself badly.

“What are you doing here?”

You didn’t sound happy. In fact, Sherlock would say you’re afraid. Afraid of him maybe?

“You’re in potential danger,” John starts.

“What…what do you mean?”

“There have been heists, robberies…we didn’t know what the connecting factor was until initials were sprayed on the wall. M.M.”

“Like…like Baker Street?” you’re slightly trembling now. “Do you think…it’s not  _him_ , is it?”

“There’s a real possibility,” John sighs. “We came here to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you nod curtly. “I’m not uprooting my life again. I can’t. I can’t go through this again.”

“It’s only a maybe,” Sherlock finds himself butting in and he sees your eyes flash with sadness at looking at him directly. He wished he hadn’t seen it. “You just need to be aware.”

“Okay well thanks and bye,” you start closing the door.

This was not going well at all and Sherlock felt that horrible wrenching in his stomach like when he’d seen the footage. He needed to just get it over with.

“Wait,” he puts his hand on the door to stop you. “John, can you give us a moment? I’ll meet you in the car.”

“Sure sure,” John nods before leaving.

“Mina,” Sherlock begins, stepping forward and through the threshold of the door.

He notes how you take a big step back, flinching almost. Had you not started to heal yet?

“What do you want?” you stare at the floor. “More to the point, why are you even here?”

“To warn you, of course.”

“Why? You made your feelings  _very_  clear when you left me in that theatre.”

And there it was. You were obviously still hurting,  _deeply_  hurting from what he did. Sherlock hated the fact you’d broken down his walls so much he was taking on your pain also.

“Mina, I apologise,” he wrings his hands together. “I was….upset by what I saw. For lack of a better term…I ran. I’m not proud of it.”

To his complete surprise, you pushed him hard in the chest, making him stumble backwards into the door.

“Six months!” you push him again. “Six months and not a word! If you really did like me Sherlock you wouldn’t have waited so long! You _abandoned_  me!”

Seeing the trauma in your eyes made his own flair up and before he knew what he was saying, he was shouting back.

“And you  _betrayed_  me, Mina!”

“Is that really what you think?” you’ve got tears brimming in your eyes now. “I left to keep you all safe. I gave in because I thought that was my life now. You couldn’t protect me and then when I needed you, you ran away.”

Of course it all sounded so horribly simple when you said it like that. Sherlock was looking at it from his point of view, blinded by the rejected feeling he had. Seeing it from your perspective, he had behaved abhorrently towards you.

“You ran away!” the dam breaks and you start openly crying now.

Sherlock does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly. He holds you as you sob against him, your hands gripping the lapels of his coat.

He just wished it didn’t feel so good to touch you. It was incredibly inappropriate.

“I’m sorry, Mina. I’m so sorry.”

 

**

 

“Is it Double M again?” John asks.

“Yep,” Greg nods. “Stealing a Corgi from Buckingham Palace this time. I mean, I ask you. A dog!”

“It’s not about the value of the item,” Sherlock says from the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “It’s about showing they can get anywhere.”

“You have to figure it out, Sherlock,” Greg pulls at his hair. “The higher ups are going spare over this. We could all lose our jobs.”

“Stop being incompetent then,” Sherlock replies acidly, his eyes drifting back to the CCTV in the safehouse he’d taken you to.

“Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson reprimands him as she sets down a tea tray. “Be nice!”

“What’s the point?” he rolls his eyes. “Double M is always one step ahead. Totally random lackies to do the work from every corner of life. Doesn’t matter if we arrest one, this will keep happening. Nobody’s ever spoken with Double M before though. They communicate via a messaging app behind a lot of VPN’s. It’d take a black hat hacker to swap sides to trace where the signal is coming from. All in all, this is useless.”

“Such optimism,” John sighs. “Doesn’t it frustrate you that they’re taking the piss?”

“Well of course it bloody does!” Sherlock snaps. “But not like I have a clue to go on!”

“Oh he’s in such a malaise,” Mrs Hudson shakes her head, addressing Greg. “Haven’t seen him like this since  _she_  left.”

At the mention of you, Sherlock’s eyes flick to the screen again but….you’ve gone?

You’re not anywhere in the house, although you could be in the bathroom but he sees that your shoes are missing as is your coat. You’re not supposed to go out.

“Who’s watching the house?” he sits bolt upright.

“Um….Anderson apparently,” Greg consults his pocket notebook.

“You put that idiot on watch duty?” Sherlock says in alarm.

“He’s a police officer, Sherlock,” Greg protests.

“Not a good one. I need to track her phone.”

He sits at the laptop, running a trace on your number to see you were heading towards Battersea station and you were heading there fast.

“Has he got her?” John asks which irritates Sherlock immensely whilst he’s trying to concentrate.

“I don’t know,” he hisses. “Let me think.”

One of the abandoned factory plants. That had to be where you were going. Memories of the time he’d squared off with Moriarty in one came flooding back to him, the taunts, the explicit sexual detail Moriarty had divulged….

“Hey!” John snaps his fingers in front of Sherlock’s face. “We need to go!”

“Come along then.”

“I suppose I’m driving?” Greg sighs, getting his keys out.

“Naturally,” Sherlock breezes past him.

If he hadn’t kept you safe again….he didn’t know what he would do. He felt utterly stupid and like he wasn’t on top of his game. Why had his logic changed so much when you’d entered his life?

_Because you started to love her, that’s why. You still do in some way, though not as strong as before. She’s your weakness._

 

**

 

At Battersea docks, Sherlock asked Greg to maintain a perimeter and to get back up. He didn’t want to spook the situation.

He entered the uninviting structure with trepidation, praying and praying that he wouldn’t see that demented grinning face again. He prayed he wouldn’t see your terrified one again and Sherlock was not a religious man.

When they rounded the corner, the sight he saw was not what he expected.

The Butler, Conrad Black, was standing next to a Bentley with tinted windows. That Sherlock was anticipating.

What he didn’t anticipate was you stood next to him in a tailored suit, sleeves of the jacket rolled up, hair artfully waved and your make up done to a professional standard. What was going on?

“Sorry boys, I got bored,” you shrug and your tone is different. Colder even.

“Mina, what’s going on?” John looks from you to Sherlock. “Get away from him!”

“Who? Conrad?” you look to your left. “He’s been ever so helpful since you left.”

Then it clicks when he spots the colour of the suit as the clouds outside part and sprinkle sunlight through the dusty windows. It’s purple. It’s Cadbury purple.

 

“Why?” is all he can say.

“You know why,” you fix him with a withering look.

“What is going on?!” John demands.

“There is no James Moriarty,” Sherlock says quietly. “And you’re looking at Double M. Mina Moriarty.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” John laughs although he doesn’t sound entirely convinced of his beliefs. “Mina’s not a criminal.”

“Technically I am. I have a record,” you interject. “It’s true though. I’m Double M.”

“Tell me why?” John steps towards you. “We tried to save you!”

“YOU LEFT ME!” the rage spills over and Sherlock can see the ghost of Moriarty in your features. “I’d just been humiliated because I tried to keep you all safe, I saw someone blow their brains out in front of me and then you all just left me there to pick up the pieces.”

“I said I was sorry,” Sherlock shakes his head.

“I know,” your expression settles back into neutral. “But too little too late.”

“Don’t hold a grudge against us when we’re trying to help!” John yells angrily.

“Help? By locking me away again like you did in Baker Street? Neither of you have changed a bit,” your lip curls. “I used that. I played on that.”

“You used my own emotions against me,” Sherlock carries on for you. “The fact I had feelings, I’d be too blind to believe Double M could ever be you.”

“Precisely,” you clasp your hands behind your back.

“So why now? Why reveal yourself now?” John still can’t process, nervously picking at his shirt sleeves. “We could turn you in.”

“You could,” you weigh up your hands. “Doubt you will find me again though. You see, I inherited a certain network. I just wanted to say goodbye, is all. I’m tired of being watched, I’m tired of being trapped. Mina Moriarty is out in the open now. I’ll be going.”

Sherlock strides confidently forward until Conrad pulls a gun on him, “You wouldn’t let him shoot me, would you?”

He can visibly see your back tensing in fury before you whirl around and storm straight towards him, almost coming nose to nose.

“And how much do you think I hate you, Sherlock Holmes? How much do you think I care about your life now? I don’t think chips are going to cut it any more to win me over.”

“I know you. You wouldn’t do it,” Sherlock says stubbornly.

You hold out your hand and Conrad passes you the gun which you step back out of Sherlock’s reach and point it at him.

“You don’t know me any more,” your face is blank. “Times change.”

“Mina, don’t do this. If you don’t care about us any more, do you at least care about Mrs Hudson? She was so happy you were doing well,” John pipes up.

There! A slight falter in your arm movements, the micro-expression of regret. Mrs Hudson was the key.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Sherlock surmises. “It’s not too late, Mina. We can make this go away.”

“You’d drop your morals for me? You’d gloss over the fact I’m running a criminal empire?” you scoff.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Because I know the Mina who joined me on that case is still in there.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” you shake your head. “I’m a villain of your own creation now. You couldn’t protect me, you left me in the hands of Moriarty and then left me to pick up my life again.”

“Please,” John moves a tiny bit forward. “We know we messed up but can you give us another chance?”

“You’ve had enough of those.”

John creeps forward and you fire the gun an inch in front of his left foot. He lets out a yell, diving backwards, the soldier rising out of his movements, as he looks for cover automatically.

“Mina! Enough!” Sherlock dives at you, wrestling you for control of the gun.

“Instructions,” Conrad barks.

“Secure the perimeter,” you rasp back, punching Sherlock in the face so that he falls backwards. “Restrain John.”

“Is this what you did with  _him_? Fighting all the time? Losing yourself to violence? Come on then, Mina. Hit me!” Sherlock raises his voice, trying another way to get through to you.

And you do, you hammer your blows all over him. You’d been working on your boxing skills clearly because he felt the deep bruising already but he lay there regardless, letting you get your energy out. If he could just wear you down enough…

“Fight back!” you’re almost bellowing.

He gives a token effort to keep you away and he can feel the rage dissipating slightly. He can’t even look over to see if John is alright because you’re all consuming in his vision.

Then there’s a gap in the struggle where you’re obviously catching your breath. You’re on top of him, panting hard, your hair falling in mussed curls around you.

“Mina,” he says softly.

Then you’re kissing him with a passion that makes him flounder for a second before he finds your pace and matches it.

“Uh…boss?” Conrad prompts, making you back away. “Part of the plan?”

“No, improvising,” you smirk. “You confuse me, Sherlock. I’m going to enjoy the rivalry to come. I think the sexual tension really adds something.”

You pat him on the cheek before getting off him.

“Time to go, Conrad,” you call. “I think we’ve tipped enough of my hand.”

“Mina, what was the purpose of this?” Sherlock stands up. “Do you want us to save you? Is that it? Deep down?”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, brushing your suit off. “I’m just declaring myself as a new player. You’ll find one of the artefacts I stole in this factory. Tatty bye now.”

Even your vocabulary had changed. Maybe Sherlock had traumatised you more than he thought.

You got in the car with Conrad, peeling out of the building and the doors automatically closed behind you as you left.

“Sherlock!”

John. Sherlock ran over, helping his friend up. He didn’t seem to be hurt which was a relief.

“What the fuck was that?!” John pushes Sherlock. “You thought you’d just have a quick snog in the middle of all of this?”

“It was tactical,” Sherlock says dryly. “There is still something of the old Mina there. She just needs to be isolated from The Butler and her network.”

“Sooooo kidnap her then? Do a reverse Moriarty?” John shakes his head. “This is mental, Sherlock.”

“There isn’t another way…I mean, we do have to escape this factory first. She locked us in. The windows have been replaced with shatterproof glass and the doors are likely barricaded now.”

“She’s trapped us?!”  
  
“Yes.”

“Oh brilliant. Very Brilliant,” John says sarcastically. “Now what?”

“Still not any smarter in the last six months, hmm?”

That voice.

It couldn’t be….

“Coooeeee,” the voice of Moriarty comes from the balcony above.

“You were dead!” John cries.

“It was a theatre, Watson… _god_ , keep up,” he rolls his eyes, descending down the stairs. “It’s not hard to fake a death.”

“So you and her were in on it the whole time?”

“Oh no. I’ve just been observing. She thinks I’m very much six feet under,” Moriarty gets to the ground floor. “I must say, I’m  _very_ impressed with my little Mina. Double M, hmm? I like it.”

“You just wanted to see what she’d do,” Sherlock feels anger spark in his limbs but he keeps himself from shaking. “A final final game.”

“Bingo!” Moriarty whirls around. “And my baby passed with flying colours. Oh! I couldn’t believe how well she’d take to my life. You know, I think my network works better than before?”

“So what now? Come to gloat?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

“No, I’m just here to stir up the pot,” Moriarty shrugs. “Enjoy that last kiss she gave you. She’ll forget you soon enough.”

He steps on a pulley stand, kicking a lever which sends him up to the top level in a zipping motion. Sherlock follows the ascent, knowing Moriarty probably knows the way out. He rounds up the staircase, trying to keep up.

“Good luck with that Shirley,” Moriarty giggles as he disappears around a corner.

“Come on, John!” Sherlock hisses, losing sight of his target.

When he gets to the same corner, he looks every which way he can but Moriarty’s vanished.

“Shit,” John pants. “I’m sorry, my lungs are what they used to be.”

“No matter,” Sherlock says dismissively. “If Moriarty got out then the exit has to be on this level somewhere.”

He just hoped he could do it in time to warn you Moriarty was coming. Then again…would you be sad…or pleased?

 

**

 

_**Six Months Earlier** _

You just kept staring at the lifeless body of the man who, mere seconds ago had told you he loved you before shooting himself.

The horror of seeing skull fragments and creeping blood made you retch a little and you sank to your knees, trying to calm your turbulent stomach.

Sherlock was just standing there still, his face wiped of all emotion as he continued to stare at the looping footage, your moans and Moriarty’s still ringing out in the theatre. You didn’t know whether to call to him or what.

Gradually you rise up again, trembling with the exhaustion of what you were processing. You took shaky steps towards Sherlock, your hand outstretched to place on his shoulder. When you got there though…

He just shrugged away from you, gave you a look like you were nothing and started walking away.

“Sherlock?” you say quietly and then a bit louder. “Sherlock, please!”

He still carries on walking.

“Sherlock, please don’t leave me! I’m sorry!”

But he never broke stride. You collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and grabbing fistfuls of your hair as you rocked back and forth on the stage.

For one second, you saw Sherlock stop, give a glance back to you over his shoulder and you think he might come back.

But he leaves you. He just….leaves.

You didn’t want to look behind you at the mess of what used to be Moriarty. You didn’t want to look at the film as the evidence of your betrayal and your poor judgement.

_But he said he loved me though at the end. It wasn’t all just a ploy for his game, right?_

You hear footsteps coming behind you and you turn around to see Conrad approaching, sitting down next to you.

“He just…I couldn’t…” you start babbling but Conrad puts an arm around you and holds you to his chest.

“It’s alright, Mina. Don’t worry, you’ll be looked after.”

“What does  _that_  mean?”

“That means I’m going to take you to his lawyer who will bequeath you his estate.”

“You mean….Moriarty left me things in his will?”

“Of course he did. He may have been eccentric, homicidal, suicidal…all a’ that but he did care for you. He wanted to make sure you were going to be comfortable.”

As it turned out, what Moriarty had left you was a vast fortune, his house, Conrad’s employment contract and…

“The entire Network?!” you wipe your tears away. “Are you serious?”

“I never joke, Miss Pevensey,” the lawyer says dryly. “For all intents and purposes, you are now James Moriarty.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Conrad squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll walk you through it. I’ve got your back, if you’ll still have me?”

“Of course,” you nod. “You’ve always been kind to me. Can you take me back to the house please?”

“Sure thing, Mina. I’ll drop you off then arrange to have the Boss moved to the funeral directors.”

“Thank you.”

You came to rely on Conrad a great deal in the next two months.

 

**

 

“I’m pretty sure that went against plan, snogging Mr Holmes n’ all, Boss,” Conrad snorts.

“Hey, it’s been a long six months,” you shrug, a smile on your face. “A girl has needs.”

“You could’ve just asked,” Conrad gestures to himself playfully. “A butler services all desires.”

“That’d feel like I’m sleeping with a prostitute,” you shake your head. “I’m paying you for this.”

“I’m not complaining,” he laughs. “Joking aside, achieve what you wanted?”

“Yeah, I can safely say Sherlock is as deluded as ever. Believes he can bring me back to 'the good side’. There isn’t a good side. It’s just all grey.”

“Maybe he should’ve done the gentlemanly thing to start with and you wouldn’t be Double M,” Conrad rolls his eyes. “Men are so fucking useless sometimes.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. I see a pretty girl with big eyes and I go stupid,” he smiles. “Though can’t say I’ve ever done what Sherlock did.”

You catch your gaze wandering to the oil painting displayed above the mantelpiece, wondering if Moriarty always looked that regal in real life. It was becoming hard to remember.

“What’s the game plan then?” Conrad breaks your reverie.

“To make a new game,” you fold your arms, still looking at the painting. “To bring Sherlock down into the grey, to make him realise he can’t be the pure boy all the time. Everyone has a dark side.”

Clapping sounds out behind you and you whirl around to see….

“You!”

But how?! How was Moriarty standing right there and Conrad didn’t seem phased at all?!

“Wait a minute,” you narrow your eyes at Conrad. “You knew all along. You’re not reacting. This was a plan, wasn’t it? You faked your death for some reason….to test me again?”

“You’ve not lost your touch,” Moriarty smiles proudly. “Oh my darling Mina! Come to Daddy!”

You walk over confidently, taking his outstretched hand with one of yours and belting him in the cheek with your fist with the other.

“You bastard!” you yell. “You let me flounder for six months thinking everyone had abandoned me and you waltz in here and expect me to be happy?!”

“God, you are  _gorgeous_ ,” he purrs, licking the flecks of blood that had cornered his mouth.”I’ve missed your rage so much. Do you have any idea how  _hard_  it’s been staying away from you?”

“Just peachy I’d imagine,” you say coldly. “Booze, hotels and women.”

His hand comes to knot in your hair, eyes almost pleading, “Did you think after you I’d want to dirty myself with disposable people? No no no, Mina. I’ve not touched  _anyone_  in six months, so you have to understand that right now I’m so  _fucking_  aroused being near you.”

You could feel through the material of his suit trousers that they were straining.

“Isn’t it true, Conrad?” Moriarty asks to the side of him.

“Yeah, Boss has locked himself away, Mina. No outside contact apart from me,” Conrad confirms.

“Oh yeah?” you quirk up an eyebrow, grabbing Moriarty blatantly by the groin and listening to the deep moan he makes. “Tough shit. You left me same as Sherlock did after ruining my life.”

“Not so ruined that you didn’t take my name though, hmmm?” he smirks. “Naughty girl.”

“I’m not doing this,” you break out of his hold and push him back.

“You’re even wearing my suit I see,” Moriarty continues. “Got it tailored, didn’t you? Makes you look very fuckable.”

“Conrad, leave us,” you say to the bodyguard.

“No problem, Boss,” he nods.

“Oh and Conrad? We’re going to talk about that offering sex comment,” Moriarty says dangerously and Conrad actually seems afraid for a second before scuttling off.

“Leave him alone,” you hiss. “He was just making a joke.”

“Oh no, he’d fuck you if you let him,” Moriarty shrugs. “Men give such obvious tells when they’re interested.”

“And what are my tells right now?”

“That you want to hurt me,” he circles around you. “That you’re fighting the fact you’re pleased to see me. That you want to climb on top of me….am I getting warmer?”

“No.”

“Liar,” he tuts, wagging a finger. “I’ve been watching you, you know. Always watching you. I’m so proud, Mina. Really, I am. You’ve managed to sort my Network into something much more manageable. This is why I needed you.”

“And who says I’ll give it back?”

He laughs, wandering around the various artefacts you’ve had stolen over the last few months.

“I do,” he finally says, spinning around. “Because I’ve come to claim what’s mine.”

“You don’t have a right. You have less right than Sherlock after the shit you pulled,” you snarl fiercely.

“You don’t  _really_  think that though,” he comes closer. “You’re just blowing off steam. I mean, aren’t you a little bit satisfied that both men you’ve courted still want you after all this time?”

Well when he put it like that….it  _did_  make you feel powerful.

“Did my confession not get through to you?” he’s almost flush against you again. “I told you I love you, Mina. Mina Moriarty. And I know you love me because…well….you’ve almost  _become_  me.”

“Except I do it better,” you snap.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs. “But together? Oh, together we could have the world in our pocket!”

You’d forgotten how magnetic he was. Easy to lose that memory when you’d been away from his charms for so long.

“Equal partnership,” he’s whispering in your ear, licking up your earlobe. “The Moriartys. Consulting criminal couple. Come onnnnnnnnn….come on, come on, come on. Don’t tell me that doesn’t excite you? You’ve missed excitement, hmm? My Network is all order now. Don’t you want to feel some chaos again?”

You just step away, walking towards your room.

“Excuse me?” Moriarty blusters. “What’s going on?”

You say nothing, moving into the re-decorated room with the bed that spans most of the floorspace.

He follows you quickly, eyes widening when he sees the changes.

“Oh now, this is new,” he purrs. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Very…perfect for us.”

“You think I did this for us?” you snort.

Before you know it, he’s advanced on you, pushing you onto the bed and then diving on top of you. He pins your wrists down to stop you struggling.

“Oh I know you did, sweetheart,” he grins, the faintest twinkle of madness in his eyes. “Because you  _missed_  me. You missed this. You missed someone taking control.”

“And what did  _you_  miss?”

“You. Always you. You drive me fucking  _wild_  and seeing you through a screen for so long….I might be more mad, I’m not sure! But now I have you again. Please say you’ll join me? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

He dips his head, mouthing along your neck and you’re already bucking against him slightly. Surely you couldn’t go back to this though, right? Moriarty had put you through hell.

On your terms. It had to be on your terms. You were your own woman and you could fuck who you pleased after all.

“I’ve missed how you respond to me,” he groans as you manage to fling him to the side and roll on top of him. “You’re my worst kind of drug. Maybe I should invent a new kind and call it after you? I’m sure we could make a killing off the party market.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, grinding your hips against his groin. “Just take what I give you.”

“Ohhhh,” he chuckles. “Aren’t we full of ourselves now? Where has this little dominant minx been hiding? Didn’t I make you flourish so well? Here is the woman inside and I set her free.”

“You think this is all your doing? Maybe I was just waiting for an excuse,” you raise an eyebrow, wrenching his shirt apart, seeing that old scar from when you bit him on his stomach. “I was here all along, Jim.”

“Keep talking like that,” he growls. “Drives me fucking  _insane_.”

He illustrates his point by rolling his groin and you can feel how hard he is, almost painfully hard. That little rush of power you feel….you forgot how good it was. The power over this man’s passion.

Moriarty lies back, his arms spread above his head, “Go on then, sweetheart. Take what you need from me.”

You undo his belt rapidly, getting off him and yanking his trousers and boxers off. You felt almost feral in the way you were attacking him but he seemed to be encouraging you. The look in his eye was just as wild.

You shuck out of your trousers and underwear and are just about to take off the jacket when he sits up, stopping you.

“Leave it on,” his voice drops an octave. “I absolutely  _adore_  it. Looks much better on you.”

You do as he asks, clambering on top of him without much ceremony and shoving him back to lie flat before writhing your body against him. You kiss, lick and bite at pretty much any part of him you could.

You just wanted him to make more of the noises you were enjoying.

“ _More_  Mina,” he rasps, grabbing your thighs so hard you’re sure you can feel bruises forming already.

“Tell me you want it, Jim,” you’re aware you’re completely slick against him, his cock twitching every time you undulate your hips.

“Oh you teaseeeee,” he almost looks angry but you know he’s just worked up. “You know I could turn this around in an instant. I could have you on your knees.”

“But you won’t,” you smirk. “So tell me what you want.”

He leans up, kissing you and biting at your bottom lip, “Fuck me, Mina. Six months I’ve been waiting and I can’t wait any longer.”

You lower yourself down onto him, feeling the stretch as you’re filled completely. You watch as Moriarty’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“This is where I belong,” he groans.

You start riding him, Moriarty’s grip on your thighs becoming even more fierce as he helps you go hard and fast.

He sits up, grabbing handfuls of your rear, squeezing hard before slapping you. Some obscene noise makes its way out of your mouth and far from being embarrassed, you embrace it.

“Those  _noises_!” his opens his mouth in fake shock. “You bad  _bad_  girl. Tell me your name, sweetheart.”

“Mina,” you pant.

“Nooooo, the  _full_  title,” he growls.

“Ohhhh you wanna hear me say Mina Moriarty?” you tease, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back, raking your teeth along his jaw.

“God yesssss,” he laughs. “Come onnnnn, be my partner Mina. You’ve come so far and exceeded every expectation I ever had. You’re  _perfect_.”

He flips you under him, just slowly thrusting, deliberately taking his time. It’s almost loving in a way and it throws you off. The gaze is just as intense though, if not more.

“I never heard your reply, by the way, after you lost the game. I love you. Do you love me? Tell me you do. Tell meeeeeee, Mina. You do, right?”

Then he’s kissing you sweetly and you’re blindsided by the change of mood. Was he serious all along?

So many nights since that day at the theatre you wondered if he told you the truth, you wondered if he was genuine. Someone who loved you wouldn’t leave you right? Turns out he didn’t after all. He just gave you everything he had to 'watch you grow’.

He grinds languidly, rubbing against a particular spot that sends your head arching back.

“I love you,” you moan and his pace increases slightly.

“Ohhh again!” he begs, holding your head still so he can stare at you. “Say it again, don’t look away.”

“I love you,” you repeat, just as he thrusts hard, but you keep eye contact.

“Your eyes. Still so expressive,” he strokes your hair back.

You were reminded of the fact Moriarty was constantly analysing your reactions by how quickly he was getting you close. Any moan, any hitched breath he would repeat the movement that made it.

“Cum for me, Mina,” he growls in your ear. “Let me hear you.”

You loudly cry out, gripping his body tightly as you jerk underneath him. He keeps overstimulating you, making you writhe, try to get away but he holds you in place, muttering about how good it felt to have you pulse around his cock.

“To our new partnership,  _my dear_ ,” he rasps before pushing as deep as he can go and groaning brashly and obviously, probably for Conrad’s benefit downstairs as he reaches his own end. “ _Never_  be away from me again this long.”

“Hey,  _you_ self imposed it last time,” you shake your head.

“Trueeeee,” he mulls it over. “But I  _loathed_  it. Oh! The boredom! Five seconds in your presence again and I’m already revitalised. Things are exciting again!”

“And what now?”

“Now? Now I let you enact your game with Sherlock,” he rolls off you to the side. “You’re a big girl now, sweetie. You need your freedom. I’ll help you, of course. Then…..then after that we do whatever we want.”

“I’m surprised you’re not mad I’m focusing on Sherlock.”

“I really did think he’d do the noble thing and take care of you after my little stunt but oops, selfish Sherlock ran away. He left my Mina heartbroken and I’m still  _raging_  inside about it. I don’t care right now that you kissed him. It’s part of your game, is it not?”

“Sort of,” you shrug.

“Bring him to his knees,” Moriarty pulls you to lie on his chest. “The hero who’s a coward.”

“I will and how will you help?”

“Ohhhh, let’s just say I have my ways. By the way, did you know he had a sister?”


End file.
